


The Cost of Kingship

by Lightningpelt



Series: Those Who Rule Egypt [3]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Alternate Backstory, Alternate Universe - Ancient Egypt, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ancient Egypt, Backstory, Gen, thieves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-03-29 13:06:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13927725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightningpelt/pseuds/Lightningpelt
Summary: If I can figure out how to use these cards, I'llneverbe starving again.The thought appeared out of nowhere, as if it wasn't even his own. Bakura sat there in the darkness, contemplating the implications and running the worn, bony pads of his fingers over the edges of the rare cards he had unwittingly stolen: "Dark Master - Zorc" and "Contract with the Dark Master."The Rise of the Thief King. Alternative backstory for TKBakura, in the Ancient Egyptian AU-verse of the series Those who Rule Egypt. Can be read separately.





	1. Eat like a King

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot even tell you how stoked I am to have the first chapter of this up! I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it~ 
> 
> ... But guys, I gotta tell you up-front... I'm writing out the duels, for this one. **EDIT (7/10/18): There are some pretty big problems with the first few duels in this fic, but it was my first attempt at this sort of thing. ^^; I'll likely go back in and fix them at some point, but until then just let me apologize and assure you that I've gotten better at it since, haha.**
> 
> The game works pretty similarly to the show, in this AU. I'm not an active player right now (someday, omg... I have dreams...), so these are really written like duels from the show (which I know sometimes bend or outright break rules). I'll definitely try to be as accurate as I can, though, within reason. Anime-only cards are used (because really, why are so many of TKBakura's cards missing from the TCG?), but I'm not going to start making up cards, because that could get really out of hand really fast. Also, some cards seem misplaced, culturally--like Bashing Shiled, for instance. I've tried to avoid egregious things like machine cards, because Ancient Egypt AU, but things like Magical Hats... I'm just hand-waving it, sorry. Also, all play is Duel Monsters based—no syncro, xyz, link, etc., primarily 'cause I don't know the first thing about how to do any of those things, haha. 
> 
> Important to note: Diabound just takes the form of a serpent, in this AU. Also, the Zorc who appears is Zorc Necrophades, though I use the "Dark Master" card as his card ~~to avoid the whole "making up cards" issue~~. 
> 
> A few Egyptian cultural notes:  
> -When I talk about beer, it's in the "bread-and-beer-as-staple" sense, not the rebellious-teenager-party sense.  
> -Egyptian currency... is hard. And, as far as I can tell from my (albeit brief) research, no one really knows for sure how it worked. It was probably primarily a barter system, but they did have set prices for things, based on the values of gold... so, I tried, but I'm sorry if things read awkwardly at times. 
> 
> **WARNINGS** for violence and starvation (and some mild food-related neurosis because of it, honestly). More warnings may be added later.

"Zorc... the Dark Master... and Contract with the Dark Master..."

Bakura stared down at the cards in his hand, contemplative. Contemplation is not the natural state for any child of his age—ten, or perhaps eleven—and the expression looked odd on his dirt-smeared face. Then again, it wasn't at all normal for a child without parents or home to be able to read as well as he could, a level of skill which was out of reach for many economically stable adults. In that regard, and in many, Bakura was an diversion from the norm.

When he had stolen the small, gilded box from the pocket of a fat merchant, after _hours_ of tailing the man's caravan, looking for an opportunity, he had been hoping for jewels. Instead, he'd opened it to reveal two papyrus playing cards.

_Rare... cards..._

Bakura brushed a shock of dirty hair out of his eyes. He was sitting in a hidden crevice of an alley, trying to ignore the stench of decaying fish coming from the gutter beside him. He was hungry—so hungry that even such a revolting scent was triggering the pangs of need. He kept his eyes focused on the cards.

_Rare... cards..._

He had thought they were only rumors. He knew of the game they were a part of, of course: Duel Monsters. Children played it, in the streets. Those who couldn't read played by attack and defense values only, but literacy raised the quality and complexity of games considerably. Bakura had heard rumors of rare, powerful cards used in duels fought by nobility and Pharaohs, but he had doubted the truth of them. He didn't grasp how pieces of papyrus could have such power—or, more to the point, _value_. But he could somewhat appraise the little box they had been held in, and _that_ was of substantial worth. Rarely, in his thieving experience, had he come across a vessel more expensive than what it contained.

 _If these are worth more... than the box..._ The thought of that made his head spin. Even if that was the case, though, he would have a very difficult time finding a buyer. He was used to getting far below market worth on most of his wares—he passed a certain amount of risk on with the stolen goods, after all—but these cards were an entirely different matter. Not only did he have no point of reference for their worth, but he had no idea who would be interested in purchasing them.

The streets were alive with the merchant's men, searching for the stolen wears. Bakura wasn't concerned, but slunk farther into the shadows for safety's sake.

 _I need to find food. I need to find food soon._ Survival took priority over everything else—a common theme in the life of the young thief. For a moment, he doubled over; tried to breathe, with only moderate success. He looked at the cards, then at their casing, and decided, quite definitively, that he would treat them as separate matters. The case, he would sell immediately—the cards, he would hang onto for a while.

The streets of Egypt had many hidden passages, navigable only by those familiar with them. Bakura's small size lent him further mobility, as he squeezed through tiny gaps that an adult would have no dream of getting through. His fingers—bony spiders, nimble and starvation-thin—squirmed into the cracks of a door and unhooked the lock from the inside. It swung open as he shook his hand lightly to dispel the sting of scraping it against stone.

"Ah. It's you, kid," the shopkeeper said, as Bakura slunk into the back of the shop. The jewelry dealer was one of his frequent buyers—a man who operated on the line between legal and illegal business. "What've you got for me, today?"

"Not much," Bakura said, with a bitter curling of his lip. He produced the case which had held the cards. "Hoping for something inside it, but it was empty. Pretty little case, though. The gold is real."

"I would hope you wouldn't bring it to me, otherwise," the merchant said, with a false note of cheer in his voice. He examined the gilded box, and Bakura saw a subtle narrowing of his eyes. The little thief's spine prickled. "... Where did you say you got this?"

 _He knows. He knows what it is._ Though the merchant's tone and posture hadn't changed, Bakura was certain. _Even if he doesn't know who it belonged to or what cards it held, he knows what it is. He knows what it was made to hold._ "Someone was trying to sell it at a bizarre," he lied. "It didn't look like they knew how to open it, since they were just showing it to people closed. That's why I was hoping there was something of value inside, and they just didn't know what they had."

The latch _was_ some sort of trick mechanism, and the jewelry dealer didn't look entirely sure how to open it, either. Bakura reached forward; demonstrated, and the little thing sprang open.

"See? Empty." Bakura gave a false sigh of disappointment, then continued appealingly, "The latch is a bit clever, though, so maybe someone will want to buy it to hold a gift?"

The merchant's eyes were still narrowed as he stared at the cushioned insides of the box. Bakura's empty stomach was in knots, and the cards—tied with some twine to the inside of one of his thighs—felt suddenly like rough stone against his skin.

"Pity..." the merchant said, then shrugged. "It's an odd shape, so not many things will fit well, inside. But I like the craftsmanship on it, so..." He reached into his pocket, and Bakura's heart lifted despite his mounting anxiety. "This seem fair?" he asked, holding out two copper trinkets and a cracked tiger's eye stone.

It didn't seem fair—far from fair, farther from fair than even Bakura was used to accepting. The raw materials the case was made up of were more valuable. But he was desperate enough to rid himself of the thing—and desperate enough for funds—to nod. "Sure. Considering."

"Considering," the shopkeeper agreed, and dropped the objects into Bakura's thin hands. The boy bowed briefly; scuttled off, feeling the cards shift slightly against his skin. He felt the merchant's eyes follow him until he was out the back door, and then heard the lock click into place behind him.

Bakura let out a soft sigh of relief, then straightened; ran his fingers through his sand-matted hair and trotted toward the market. He knew, logically, that he should save at least a copper piece—that he should use the damaged stone and one of the coppers to get some bread and some beer, and make due. But he felt weak; his body was close to giving out on him, he could tell. It had happened before. Saving resources was a useless gesture if he didn't have the strength to so much as stand.

"That," he said to a seller of fish, pointing to a slab of pink flesh hanging from the edge of the stall and then holding out the sum of what the merchant had given him, making an effort to look hopeful. He found that, if he spoke in fragments—better yet, single words—adults dropped their guards a bit. He was just another impoverished child, uneducated and made further stupid with hunger, who'd managed to swindle a bit of copper from someone; that's what they thought. Someone who couldn't even speak in sentences couldn't possibly have the wherewithal to swipe a few bread rolls when their back was turned. The merchant wrapped up the fish in papyrus; traded it for the tokens, and Bakura nodded dumbly in thanks. He went to great lengths to not make any sort of impression on anyone—the streets were full of children like him, after all. By the time this shopkeeper discovered his missing wears, he would have seen a dozen small, dirt-smeared faces.

Bakura tucked the fish into his robes, feeling his insides twist with hunger at the scent—far more appealing than the rotting stench he'd been surrounded by, earlier. He almost lost himself, but he forced his steps to be steady; skulked around another vendor until he could steal a jar of beer, then darted into a nearby alleyway. He squirmed into a gap in a wall, forging on through the cracked stone until he was so deep into the construct that he was left in near darkness. Then he wriggled, thrashing slightly until he managed to sit comfortably in the tiny space.

Only then, with shaking hands, did he unwrap the fish and sink his teeth into it. The cards were completely forgotten as he ate, the food tangible assurance that he would stay alive for a few days more. When a chunk got lodged in his throat, in his zeal, he gulped down some of the beer. By the time he swallowed the last of the drink, licking the salty remnants of fish from his fingers, he felt a bit ill—satisfyingly so.

Life would continue, at least for a few days longer, because the pain in his stomach was no longer due to hunger.

Bakura let himself nap there, for a while, a dagger held ready on his lap. When the light had faded to nothing—the sun set, outside of his little hiding spot—he felt for the cards still strapped to his leg. He couldn't read them, in the dark, but he remembered their names and pictures.

"Dark Master... Zorc..."

He wondered what significance the cards could hold. Now that his mind wasn't consumed with matters of staying alive, at least for the moment, he couldn't stop himself from speculating.

 _If I can figure out how to use these cards, I'll_ never _be starving again._

Bakura blinked in the darkness, surprised. He couldn't trace the thought to its origin—it had appeared out of nowhere, as if it wasn't even his own.

_Never... starve...?_

The thought was ridiculous; maddeningly tempting, like the scent of roast meat. And it was that thought that swirled about in his mind as he drifted to sleep, and it was that thought that followed him into his dreams.

 

... ... ...

The next day, Bakura didn't go hunting for food, nor did he go hunting for gems or gold.

Bakura went hunting for cards.

He crawled out of his hiding spot as the sun rose; spared a bit of copper he had stowed away to buy a glass of beer and a bit of bread, and then set off. From the shadows of an alley, he watched two children playing a game—Duel Monsters.

"Spell activate!"

"I summon my servant to attack! Destroy the enemy!"

"I set a card, face down, and end my turn."

"You've activated my trap card!"

Bakura drifted from game to game. Children and adults alike played; poor and rich alike played. All over the city, Bakura wandered, observing. There was a difference in cards, between social classes, but not once did Bakura see any resembling the two he held hidden close to his body—the cards which seemed to radiate living heat against his skin.

Eventually, Bakura's nature as a thief made itself known. When a player looked away, he would snatch a card or two from the top of their deck or graveyard. It didn't so much matter _which_ cards he pilfered, only that he had gathered _dozens_ of them by the end of the day. When night fell, he crawled into a well-known hiding place and fell deeply asleep.

Again, his dreams were haunted by visions of cards and the scent of roast meat.

When the dawn light woke Bakura, he rose, without thought or plan, and bought beer and bread. He wandered, watching games and collecting cards. He heard; leaned; gathered stolen monsters and spells and traps. The rare cards hidden against his flesh hummed approval.

 _What's... come over me...?_ Bakura couldn't remember what could possibly be more important than cards, but he was sure there was something. His sudden single-mindedness unsettled him, but he lacked the perspective to determine why. So he wandered; watched games; stole cards. It was a relief, to not think about whatever had to be more important than cards. And when night came, he slept and dreamed of roast meat.

Bakura rose again; bought bread and beer, and trolled the city for ongoing games to watch and cards to steal. He fell asleep; rose, on a fourth day, ate a bread roll and drank a glass of beer, and hunted for games and cards. He crawled off to sleep, wondering why his limbs were trembling; decided it was too tiresome to think about, and dreamed of savory things.

When he woke again, he found he had nothing left to trade for so much as a crumb of bread, so he drank water from the side of the road and began his hunt for cards. He was unbothered by this. What mattered were the _cards_. He couldn't think of anything else he should be concerned with. He lost all track of time, sleeping or waking—lost track of his own body. What mattered were the cards. The cards were the only things that was real, that had substance.

Eventually, though, he dropped off into utter darkness where there weren't even cards—where there weren't even dreams.

 

... ... ...

When Bakura regained consciousness, every single one of his instincts was _screaming_.

_I'm dying. I'm dying. Get up. I'm dying. I'm dying. Get up. Get up!!_

Bakura struggled onto his elbows—it _hurt_. He was in one of his own hideouts, as far as his blurred vision told him; there was that, at least. And around him, scattered on the ground where he had fallen, were _cards_.

 _Oh_ gods _..._

Bakura's insides twisted—shrieked with pain, and he retched. His mouth was coated with sand, and only a drizzle of acidic bile came up as his body tried to vomit.

 _Oh gods... oh_ gods _how did this happen?!_

 _The cards. The_ cards _. It all started when I found those cards._

With hopelessly shaking hands, Bakura ripped the cards from their hidden spot against his leg and threw them, albeit weakly, away from himself. Then he scrambled, wriggling out into the cool night air and half-crawling, half-stumbling through the city streets.

Bakura was no fool. It wasn't often that he had excess, but he had stashes—emergency cashes, in half a dozen places throughout the city. He scarcely made it to one such hideout, squirming under the crumbling foundation of a temple and dragging himself beneath it, in the pitch black, until he bumped into the little chest. Fumbling with the latch, he opened it; drank the beer, first, lest he crumble to dust from dryness, and then bolted the scraps of bread and preserved meat he had hidden there.

Shuddering, Bakura sat back; took stock of his situation, as the urgency of imminent death faded. He flopped onto his side, weakness rising like a physical force to pin him down.

_I was so close to dying. If I hadn't been able to move..._

_Those cards... why...?_

_If I hadn't eaten that fish... if I hadn't thought to eat properly that day... I would be dead right now._

_Maybe there is one god... just one god... who's looking out for me..._

 

... ... ...

"Thought you might've died, kid," the jewelry merchant said, when Bakura slunk into the back of his shop.

Bakura shook his head; held up a necklace of gold and obsidian. "How much?"

"Sure you're alright?" The man gave him a sideways glance. "You look thin. Thin _ner_."

"Doesn't matter. Do you want to buy this or not?"

"That little box you brought me the other day—it caught someone's attention."

Bakura felt his bones go cold; didn't speak. All his hideouts in the city had cards in them, despite the fact that he couldn't remember acquiring most of them. Several seemed to be of higher-than-average quality. He hadn't dared to so much as look at original two—Contract with the Dark Master and Dark Master Zorc—and hadn't even been back to the particular hideout where he'd abandoned them.

"One of the pharaoh's priests," the merchant said, and Bakura took a slight step back, "was very interested in where I got it."

"I'll slit your throat while you sleep."

The merchant gave a tight smile. "I know better than to cross little demons like you. You've got nothing to lose, and that makes you dangerous. But I want to know what was in that box."

"Rot!" Bakura spat, tucking the necklace into his pocket and turning away. "May Ammit eat your heart!"

"What cards were in that box, kid?"

Bakura froze; didn't answer.

"It was clear, from their questions," the merchant continued. "My father dealt in cards, for a while. I'm familiar enough with them to be able to tell that that's what the priest was looking for."

"What makes you think I'd tell you?" Bakura growled, though his heart was racing.

"Because I might be able to tell you exactly what you've got."

"I don't want anything to do with it!" Bakura spat. "You hear me? It doesn't matter, because I'm not dealing with it!"

"Then sell them to me."

Bakura turned; saw that the merchant was watching him.

"I'll make an offer, sight unseen. I don't even need to know what they are, or how many there are."

Bakura didn't reply, but stayed still; held the merchant's gaze.

"200 standard rations. _Per_ card."

It was all Bakura could do to remain impassive, in the face of such a number.

The merchant looked a bit perturbed, when he didn't respond. "300 for each, and you'd be a fool to refuse that offer."

Bakura's whole body shuddered, and he said at last, "Let me think about it. I'll give you an answer tomorrow."

The man nodded; motioned, and said, "Let me see that necklace."

Bakura, with some reluctance, fetched it again from his pocket. He still needed to eat, that day.

The merchant examined it cursorily; rustled in his pockets, and held out three gold ingots. "How does this look?"

It was a gross over-payment, but Bakura only nodded.

 

... ... ...

Bakura gathered his stolen cards from each of his hideouts; scoured the whole city for them, and ended up with over three hundred stockpiled in an abandoned shop's crumbling basement. Then he went out for supper.

With some of the merchant's gold, Bakura bought himself some leeks, a jar of beer, and two roast pigeons. Such a purchase—all from the same vendor, no less—was indiscreet, but he was too weary to care. He returned, then, to the cards; sat down and tore into one of the birds, trying to curb the usual ravenous pace he ate at. For once, he had plenty—he couldn't allow hunger to muddy his thoughts, not that night.

 _You'll never starve. Not if you figure out these cards..._ That was the thought that had driven him nearly mad, as far as he could remember—the thought that hadn't been his own; had appeared, with the cards. It seemed, now, that that premonition was coming true, despite his brush with death.

_But 300... 600 standard rations..._

A standard ration was somewhat of a starvation wage—one loaf of bread and one jar of beer, each with standardized nutritional content. One per day could sustain life, but not entirely well; most of the lowest-paid laborers were allotted at least two per day's work. Most employers paid more, since a well-fed workforce did better work.

_He's basically offering me a year's worth of food. I wouldn't be hungry for a year's time._

That year would, theoretically, afford Bakura a chance—a period of time when every scrap of his energy didn't need to go into surviving. He could get, somehow, _ahead_ , during that time. But that type of thinking was a gamble, and if it didn't work out...

Bakura tore a chunk of flesh off the pigeon's bones; miscalculated, and for a moment struggled to chew and swallow. He took a gulp of beer to wash it down.

Cleaning his fingers as well as he could, on the filthy linens he wore, he picked through the cards piled on the floor. _Mirror Force... Feral Imp... Trap Hole... Robbin' Goblin..._

Bakura swallowed, his throat feeling suddenly dry.

 

... ... ...

The next day, Bakura appeared again at the merchant's shop. He brought no stolen wears to sell.

"Did you eat well, last night?" the merchant asked, and Bakura nodded. "Glad to hear it. Did you make your decision?"

"I did."

There was a pause. The merchant's eyebrows rose slightly.

"And?" he prompted eventually, when the silence became uncomfortable.

"Have a duel, with me."

The merchant's eyes widened. "A duel? With _you_?"

Bakura nodded; met and held the merchant's gaze with a narrowed, upturned glare. "If you win, I'll accept your offer. If you lose, you'll tell me what the cards are _actually_ worth, and what sorts of powers they have."

The merchant gave a wry, pained grin. "Can't pull anything over on you, can I?"

Bakura shook his head once—resolute.

"Fine. You know how to duel, at least?"

A nod.

"Alright. Meet me back here at nightfall—I'll show you the true power of Duel Monsters, then."

Bakura made sure, again, to eat well throughout the day. Hunger was a distraction he knew well, and knew he couldn't afford. He spent his remaining time with the cards—the forty he had chosen to create a deck. He memorized their artwork and descriptions; synthesized combinations in his head. Those days when he had wandered the streets, almost dead, he had watched many duels of all kinds and skill levels. He had learned many things.

When night fell, he returned to the jewelry shop and found the merchant waiting for him, behind it.

"Follow me," the man said. Bakura obeyed, though he kept one hand on the hilt of a dagger concealed beneath his tattered robes.

The merchant led him to a temple, where they descended a flight of ornately carved stairs into the basement. The merchant lit a torch.

"My father, when he dealt in cards, had permission to use this duel field," the man said, as Bakura stared at the empty expanse of stone floor. Runes glowed softly at each of the four corners. "The priests have been kind enough to offer me the same agreement, should I ever enter the world of Duel Monsters, myself. I prefer to trade in tangible things, though, like jewelry."

Bakura preferred gemstones, too. He was contemplating attempting to barter with the merchant, rather than this stupid notion he'd had of a duel, when the man pulled out his own deck.

"You stand over there," he instructed, "and I'll stand opposite."

With little else to do, Bakura obeyed. His heart pounded ever-harder in his chest, and he wondered how he could have possibly gotten himself into such a mess. The glowing ruins made his skin crawl. Each player drew five cards.

"I'll go first," the merchant said. "No player, of course, can attack on their first turn." He selected a card from his hand; held it up, and declared, "I'll summon Mudora, to attack!" Just as Bakura was wondering how he was even supposed to _see_ the card, at such a distance, it vanished entirely from the merchant's hand. The ruins' glow intensified.

Bakura shivered, watching as violet energies swirled across the field and slowly, deliberately, came together. The monster—Mudora, with 1500 attack points—materialized on the merchant's side of the field, moaning and swinging its khopesh like a living creature.

Bakura began to tremble.

"You see?" the merchant asked, spreading his hands. "This is the true power of Duel Monsters—the power held only by priests and pharaohs. Do you see, yet, your error? Are you _frightened_ , child?"

"Do you end your turn?"

The merchant blinked. "What?"

"Quit stalling," Bakura said, a smile taking shaky purchase on his face. His trembling grew worse, excitement rising to seize him with all the power of life itself. "Do you end your turn?"

The merchant huffed, seeming disappointed. "I end my turn."

"Good..." Bakura breathed. "My turn." He looked over his cards, trying not to be distracted by just how hard his hands were shaking. He didn't exactly know what his next move should be, but he was pleased the merchant hadn't had the presence of mind to set any cards. He selected one of his own; said, "I set a card, and then summon Souls of the Forgotten, to defend. I end my turn."

The merchant laughed; Bakura tried to keep the smile from creeping onto his face. _Come on. Attack me._

"Foolish child! You are only a beginner, then!" the merchant cackled. "I draw! Then I send my servant to attack—Mudora, destroy his defender!"

The beast charged; Bakura, scarcely able to move for his trembling, stood still as he was buffeted by wind from the resulting battle. Souls of the Forgotten shrieked as it vanished to his Graveyard.

"I set one card, and end my turn," the merchant declared, his lips curling with smugness.

"I draw," Bakura said softly, and did so. He reordered the four cards he held; thought, for a long moment, and then said, "I summon Dark King of the Abyss, to defend. I end my turn."

The merchant laughed again. "You won't win by merely playing defense!" he shouted. "Pull yourself together, boy! I summon Skull Red Bird, to attack! Destroy the defender!"

The monster screeched, and Bakura raised one hand to shield his face from the force of the attack as Dark King of the Abyss dissipated. The merchant's laughter intensified.

"And your set card can't be anything special, if you haven't used it _yet_!" he shouted. "Go, Mudora! Attack the boy directly!"

The monster groaned; swung it's khopesh, then charged. Bakura, though nearly unable to stand for the excited tremors wracking his body, raised a hand.

"I activate my Trap: Zoma the Spirit, to defend me!"

The ghoulish monster, all darkness and gnarled limbs, roared as it came into being. The khopesh of the merchant's Mudora tore through it, but it was the merchant who cried out in pain as Zoma dissipated.

"Zoma the Spirit manifests as a Zombie-Type monster, in defensive position," Bakura announced, as the merchant stumbled. "When it's destroyed in battle, damage equal to the attack of the monster that destroyed it is inflicted on _your_ life points!"

"Lucky boy," the merchant spat, straightening. "But now you've angered me, so perhaps not lucky, after all."

"Your turn it over! I draw!" Bakura announced, then allowed himself to smile. "I set one card, and then summon Abaki to attack!" The demonic little creature formed, cackling and dancing about on the field.

"Ha!" the merchant crowed. "I activate my set card, Trap Hole! It destroys your silly little fiend instantly!"

"And I flip _my_ set card, Seven Tools of the Bandit!" Bakura shouted. "By paying 1000 life points, I can negate Trap Hole's effect! Abaki! Attack his Mudora!"

The fiend cackled with glee, smashing through Mudora with it's demented club. The monster shattered, and the merchant's face twisted as his life points dropped to 2300. Bakura's stood at 3000, after the activation of Seven Tools of the Bandit.

The merchant sneered. "You think you can actually win?!" he demanded, then drew a card. "You were better off sticking to defense! I summon Faith Bird, and play the spell card Polymerization!" Bakura watched in amazement as the spell activated—the two feathered beasts blurred together and emerged as one massive monster. The merchant announced: "Crimson Sunbird! With its 2300 attack, your little fiend is finished next turn!"

Bakura drew a steadying breath; struggled, for a moment, to take his eyes off the winged beast on the field, and then drew a card. He considered his hand. "I set two cards," he said slowly, "and end my turn."

A flicker of uncertainty crossed the merchant's face, and he gave his own hand a careful look after his draw. He glanced at Crimson Sunbird; at Abaki; at his hand; at Bakura's set cards.

"Come on!" Bakura shouted suddenly, startling the merchant of jewels. "Attack me, if you aren't coward! What am I? Some child? Some filthy little cur? Attack me!"

The merchant's face twisted, and he bore his teeth. "Very well!" he roared. "Crimson Sunbird, attack the unsightly little fiend!"

The winged beast screeched; swooped, and slashed through Abaki with vicious talons. Bakura braced against the shock-wave, but held up one hand.

"My trap is Defense Draw!" he shouted, over the fading sounds of the battle. "I take no damage, this turn, and draw one card! Thanks to Abaki's effect, though, you take 500 points of direct damage!"

The merchant scowled, but crossed his arms. "You'd better summon a monster, this turn," he said. "If not, all your clever little moves will be for nothing."

 _And you should have summoned a monster_ last _turn..._ Bakura thought, drawing another card. He ran the pads of his fingers along it's edge; held it up to the firelight, examining the artwork. _But you weren't thinking clearly, were you? You expected me to be rattled by this duel field, by the monsters, by the spells and the traps... but I'm used to pressure, you soft bastard. You're the one who's about to crack._

"I summon Earthbound Spirit to defend, and end my turn!" he said, and the merchant's grin widened.

"Out of tricks, I see!" he said, with a laugh. "Very well! I'll finish you quickly, then!" He drew a card; announced, "I summon Dark Bat, to attack! First, Crimson Sunbird attacks your Earthbound Spirit!"

"Your turn ends there!" Bakura shouted, and the merchant drew back as if struck. "I activate my set trap, Spirit Shield! I can banish one fiend monster in my graveyard, Souls of the Forgotten, to negate your attack and end your battle phase!"

Crimson Sunbird's claws bounced off the shining barrier that manifested, and the merchant gave a shriek of frustration. Bakura drew a card; his breath caught.

"It's here..."

"Get on with it, child!" the merchant shouted.

"In such a hurry to not be able to attack?" Bakura scoffed, and watched with satisfaction as the man's face reddened. "Very well! First, I play the spell Monster Reborn, to re-summon Abaki to my field! Then I play the equip card Bashing Shield, which ups Abaki's attack power by 1000 points, to 2700!"

The little fiend came back to life, cackling and dancing about gleefully, and Bakura felt a laugh bubble in his own throat. He swallowed against it, though; kept his eyes fixed on the merchant's face.

"Abaki! Attack his Crimson Sunbird!"

The merchant gave a pained shout as Abaki, armed with the spiked shield, slammed through Crimson Sunbird, shattering it.

"You have 1400 Life left!" Bakura called. "Your turn!"

The merchant braced his feet wide; scowled, and spat into the dust. "You haven't haven't beaten me yet, _rat_!" He drew a card; grinned. "I have a rare card of my own, boy, and it will end you! I tribute Dark Bat, to summon Diabound Kernel! I play the spell Rush Recklessly, which ups its attack by 700 for one turn! Then, Diabound's own effect increases its by attack by 600 when it declares an attack, for a total of 3100 attack! Go, my servant, Diabound! Attack Abaki!"

Bakura braced himself; covered his face with his forearms as the demented little fiend monster shattered again with a shriek. But he didn't flinch as his life, though untouched by battle damage due to Bashing Shield's effect, dropped to 2500 due to Abaki's effect; the merchant's fell to 900. When Bakura raised his head to gaze up at the huge white serpent, Diabound, he was smiling.

"What a magnificent monster..." he breathed. "I think I'll steal it."

"You'll _what_?!" roared the merchant.

"It's time to end this," Bakura said, simply. He drew a card; tucked it into his hand, and then held up a spell. "Ritual Spell: Contract with the Dark Master! I tribute Earthbound Spirit, from my field, and Chaos Necromancer from my hand! Come, Dark Master Zorc! Heed my summon, most powerful of gods!"

The merchant's eyes bugged as wind buffeted him; he took a step back. "I-Impossible! You couldn't have—!"

"Couldn't have what?" Bakura asked, his grin twisting cruelly. "You thought that I wouldn't put the rare cards into my own deck, really?" Then he raised his voice; shouted, with honest rage and heartache behind the words, "Just what kind of fool do you take me for?! Dark Master, attack his Diabound Kernel! Finish him!"

The merchant's legs gave out, and he watched with dull eyes as the monster formed; attacked, with brutish claws, tearing through Diabound and reaching the human beyond. The shock wave hit him, and he covered his face with his arms, giving a cry of distress. His cards began to re-materialize, as his Life dropped to zero, fluttering to the ground around him.

"You're done for," Bakura growled, gazing up at the majestic, beastly creature; at Dark Master Zorc. He stalked across the field, past the softly growling monster, and stood over the merchant. "Bow down."

The man started to sneer something, but Zorc roared; the merchant covered his ears with a cry, and then, already on his knees, dropped down onto his hands.

"Lower," Bakura commanded, and the man prostrated himself among his defeated cards. Zorc, at last, began to dissipate. Bakura paced; glowered down at the man. "I'm tied of playing to fool. I'm _tired_ of playing submissive to _cur_ like you!" He lashed out; kicked the merchant in shoulder, and the man cringed. "I've won the duel, so there'll be no deal. And I don't need your information. I've got everything I need." He paused; looked down, and picked up a card. "I will take your Diabound, though."

The merchant's head shot up. "That's not—!" he began, but Bakura kicked out again; caught his temple, this time, and the merchant fell with a yelp of pain.

"The _winner_ makes the rules—that's how this world works," Bakura said, then spat on the merchant. He looked approvingly at the card in his hand; held it up to examine it in the firelight. "I'll claim this card, Diabound, as a symbol of my pride, and Zorc will represent my strength. And I will _never_ crawl about in the mud looking for crusts of bread, ever again."

The merchant kept his head lowered; said nothing. Bakura's gaze flicked down.

"Well?!" he snarled, and kicked up a cloud of sand at the man. The merchant didn't respond. "What do you have to say?! Nothing?!"

When the merchant kept his silence, Bakura reached down and grabbed the shoulder of his silken robes; tore it, at the seam, as he wrenched the man somewhat up.

"You think _not talking_ will save you?!" he screamed, and the merchant cringed away. "You think you can make yourself invisible if you just shut up and take whatever abuse I give? You think I'll get bored? You think I'll stop? That doesn't work! It _doesn't_ work! I know! I've _tried_ that, and it doesn't make the abuse stop!!"

The merchant still didn't speak, face twisted in fear and eyes screwed shut. Bakura gave a wordless snarl, furious to feel tears streaming down his own face, and drove one bony knee into the man's face. The merchant flew backwards, with a spray of bright red blood from his very broken nose, and Bakura followed; kicked him again, in the head, and then ground his foot into the man's stomach.

"It doesn't... stop...!" he wheezed, then took a step back, breathing hard. The merchant was unconscious, and Bakura wondered disconnectedly if he should finish him.

 _Better to let him live with a misshapen nose..._ he decided, after a moment, and spat once more on the battered figure. Then he stooped; rustled around for loose gold and anything of value in the merchant's robes. He refrained from picking up any more of the man's cards, though, for Diabound would serve as his special memento from the duel. He also hung one of the merchant's necklaces, a lapis lazuli pendant, prominently from his neck. He felt his pocket; confirmed that his own deck had reformed, there, and tucked Diabound away with it.

Though it was late, Bakura wandered out of the city and found, following the scent, a stall selling fish beside the Nile. He walked up to if with his head held high.

"I'll take that one," he told the man, who looked at him in surprise. When the fish-seller didn't reply, right away, he pointed. "That fish—I'd like it." He produced a gold figurine, taken from the merchant's pocket. "Will this do, for payment?"

The fisherman nodded dumbly; fetched the fish down, and wrapped it. Bakura thanked him, then made his way down to the bank to enjoy his meal.

 _That's right..._ he thought, devouring the tender, well-seasoned flesh. Such a fish should have fed him for days, on the strict rations he had set for himself, for the sake of survival. He was determined to eat the whole thing that night. _I won't be starved—never again. I won't do it to myself, and I won't let others do it. I'll eat like a_ king _, tonight and every other night of my life._


	2. To be Called King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took so long to write... *sobs* Not every chapter is going to have a great, detailed duel like these first two, I swear to Ra (actually, this is the last one for a while). This chapter and the next one were actually supposed to be one singular entity, but the damn duel took so long to write I'm just posting this first half, for now. Deepest apologies for the wait. *bows* 
> 
> That said, I've actually given Bakura's deck a lot of thought (too much thought, for sanity's sake). He runs a fiend/trap deck, and you'll see how his fondness for the ante rule changes his lineup over time. >w>
> 
> Thank you for your continued readership! Hope you enjoy the new installment~

_"Hello, child."_

_Bakura looked up, surprised. Though he often dreamed, they were rarely coherent affairs. Yet he found himself very much lucid, in a violet-tinted landscape, standing on a duel field and staring up at Dark Master Zorc._

_"You worried me, that first week. Thought I'd accidentally driven you_ mad _. But you pulled out of it, and just look how well you're getting on, now. Well done, indeed."_

 _Bakura sneered. "Don't talk to me like I'm_ your _servant._ You _obey_ me _, Dark Master."_

 _The monster chuckled. "Of course. But let me tell you, child, you've only scratched the surface of true power. I can help you grow stronger, any time you like."_

Bakura woke with a soft gasp; scrabbled, in the dust, and put a hand on his deck. It was within reach, if not on his person, at all times. He sat up slowly; shook the sand from his hair, as best he could, and threw a robe on over the clothes he had slept in.

Six months had passed since Bakura had defeated the jewelry merchant in a Duel Monsters game. He'd taken to wandering from town to town, moving whenever his own notoriety caught up with him. No longer did he bother with merchants, like that man—he stole whatever he needed, or traded directly for it with what he _had_ stolen. He didn't fear being caught, or being known. He had only two self-imposed rules, after being so strict with himself for so long: he never told his name to anyone, and he never laid down to sleep hungry.

He had the skills, to live in such a way; he couldn't fathom why he hadn't, before.

Any time Bakura wasn't stealing or scouting or enjoying the spoils of his exploits, he played card games. He challenged a wide variety of opponents—from children to adults; from peasants to fat merchants. He hadn't dueled in a proper arena, where cards manifested in the physical world, since his very first duel with the merchant. In the area of gaming, much like in his life, he had two rules: the winner could choose one card from the loser's deck, and the loser must bow and admit the dominion of the winner. He hadn't needed to bow down even once.

Bakura never used Zorc, when he dueled. Despite his newfound lack of fear, concerning his own visibility, he still wasn't keen on attracting that _much_ attention, nor that _kind_ of attention. The pharaoh, as far as he was concerned, was a force better left not angered. He used Diabound, conversely, in almost every one of his duels, and his deck grew stronger as he continued to win. Zorc remained always with his deck, though, if not a part of it; always nearby.

Along with cards, Bakura had begun to hoard gems and jewelry. If he grew bored of a piece, he would sell it, but often he kept and stashed the shiny trophies. Since he moved around far more than he used to, it was impossible to maintain the same type of network of hideouts that he once had, but he still had several he made use of in each town.

Other thieves—children, especially—were beginning to take notice of him, and he heard the whispers. A gray-haired boy, they described him, capable of stealing anything; nameless; all but impervious to punishment or defense. Fingers as nimble as Ra's rays. A soul that even Ammit would be pressed to corner and consume. A mind as clever as Bast's. These were all things said about him, and that pleased young Bakura.

Often, Bakura wore a headdress; his hair was the most identifiable feature he had, after all, and with it hidden he could still pass as just another street rat. But sometimes he _enjoyed_ the furtive whispers that sprang up in his wake; _enjoyed_ the nervous looks adults gave him.

"Duel me?"

Bakura turned at the question; met the gaze of the priest. Despite the obvious potential for disaster, he kept his head raised.

"Why should I?"

"You're the little thief everyone's talking about, aren't you?" the priest asked, with a serene smile. "I've heard you never decline a duel. So, duel me."

Bakura smiled. "You've heard right. I'll take you on, swine."

As Bakura followed the man through town, he felt his blood begin to heat with anticipation. He was always excited before a duel, but this priest was leading him towards a temple—and perhaps, he thought, a proper duel field. He swallowed against the feeling if his heart pounding high in his throat.

 _I want to use Zorc, if we battle on a proper field. I want to see the Dark Master come to life once more._

"I hear you like to wager cards," the priest said, conversationally.

"Again, you've heard right. Winner chooses a card from the loser's deck—that's my usual rule."

"Let's make it a bit more interesting, shall we?" The priest glanced back, his eyes sharp. "We'll both wager our rarest card. Up front."

Bakura began to smile, then, his fingers twitching within the pockets of his robe. _He knows... He knows exactly what I've got, so then there's no point in_ not _using the Dark Master in this duel. How utterly_ splendid _._ "Sounds exciting."

The priest gave him a tight smile—they understood one another, then.

True to Bakura's prediction, the priest led him down into the basement of a temple to Osiris. There, at the side of the duel field, they held out their rare cards.

"So you do have the Dark Master..." the priest murmured; it made Bakura irrationally angry that someone other than him was looking at Zorc's card.

"And what do you wager?"

The priest smirked. "Change of Heart." He held up the spell card. "One of the most powerful magic cards in the game. To my knowledge, this is the only copy."

Bakura shuddered; of all his opponents, few had had truly _rare_ cards. But not only was Change of Heart appealing in its rarity, it would be an immediate and invaluable addition to his deck.

 _I want that card._

The priest's smile widened. "Shall we begin?"

Bakura nodded; swapped a few cards out of and into his deck, then took up his position opposite the priest. "I'll go first." He drew his hand, and smiled. "I summon Abaki, to attack. I set one card." He shivered with pleasure as the fiendish little monster materialized; reveled in the way his pulse picked up speed until it was almost uncomfortable. "Since I can't attack, I end my turn."

The priest smiled. "Decent opening gambit, child..." He drew. "I set one card, and then summon Phantom Gryphon, to attack!" The beast came to life on the field, with a screech and a flap of feathered wings, and Bakura shivered. "Then, I play the equip card Shooting Star Bow - Ceal. It lowers Phantom Gryphon's attack to 1000, but allows it to attack your Life directly! Go, my servant! Attack the boy!" 

"My set card is Defense Draw!" Bakura shouted, almost instinctively; the card flipped upright, and Phantom Gryphon's attack never reached him. "I draw one card, and battle damage from this turn is negated." 

The priest seemed unbothered. "Nice trick. Your turn, boy." 

_Abaki has more attack, since Shooting Star Bow - Ceal lowers his monster's attack by 1000 points..._ Bakura drew another card and considered his hand. "I summon Dark King of the Abyss, to attack. Then, I set one card, and send my servant Abaki to attack your Phantom Gryphon—Abaki, attack!" 

" _My_ set card is Gravelstorm," the priest announced calmly, raising his hand. "It allows me to chose one spell or trap from each side of the field and return them to our hands—and I choose Shooting Star Bow - Ceal, and your set card!" 

Bakura's breath caught; he watched as the battle proceeded, even as Phantom Gryphon's equip card dissipated and it's attack returned to normal. Phantom Gryphon's claws tore through Abaki, sending the shrieking fiend to the graveyard. Bakura flinched as he took three hundred points of damage, then five hundred more due to Abaki's effect. The priest seemed nonplussed when his life points dropped—3500 to Bakura's 3200. 

"Your turn isn't over," the priest called, when Bakura stood still for a moment. The small thief forced himself to shake his head; stand up straight, and address his opponent without flinching. 

"I change Dark King of the Abyss from position to attack to position to defend," he said, "set two cards, and end my turn." 

"Not a bad choice," the priest said, and chuckled. Bakura chewed his bottom lip, tasting the remnants of his breakfast of dried fish and figs—or perhaps just remembering the taste. "I set one card, as well, and then summon Pitch-Black Warwolf, to attack! Go, my servant—attack his defender!" 

Bakura watched as Dark King of the Abyss was destroyed, then fixed his eyes on his set cards—Spirit Shield and Zoma the Spirit. _I only have two fiends in my graveyard... so this turn, I shouldn't use Spirit Shield, but Zoma..._ "I activate my set—" he began, and stalled when the card didn't respond to his command. "What?" 

"That's Pitch-Black Warwolf's effect," the priest said, with a smirk. "You can't activate trap cards during the battle phase. And you have no monsters to defend with! Now, Phantom Gryphon! Attack him directly!" 

Bakura threw up his arms to shelter his face as the beast soared towards him with a screech; scored its talons through him. He felt the pain, an illusion though it may be, and staggered as his Life dropped to 1200. 

"You aren't anything special," the priest said, with a smirk. "It's a fluke, then, that you've made a bit of a reputation for yourself." 

"This fight is only getting started!" Bakura snapped, and drew a card. _I have Zoma and Spirit Shield on the field... but if I can't get rid of his Warwolf..._ "I summon Souls of the Forgotten, to defend! Then I play the spell card, Monster Reincarnation! I discard one card—" Seven Tools of the Bandit, somewhat regrettably, as opposed to the only other card he held, "—and re-summon Abaki to the field! Next, I send Abaki to attack your Pitch-Black Warwolf!" 

The priest didn't flinch as his monster was destroyed; his life points fell to 3400. Bakura tried not to feel unsettled with only a single card—Contract with the Dark Master—in his hand. 

"I end my turn." 

"Did it feel good, child?" the priest asked. "To land one final scratch before I finish you?" 

Bakura's lip curled. "All talk. Show me something impressive, if you want to see me quake." 

The priest drew a card; tucked it into his hand. "I shall oblige, child. I flip my set card—Xing Zhen Hu!" Bakura watched in astonishment as chains appeared; wrapped around his two set cards. "It allows me to target two set spells or traps on the field, and seal them, for as long as it stays on the field!" 

_Spirit Shield...!_ Bakura thought, suddenly aware of how heavily his defense hinged on the single card. He forced himself to focus—the priest was still speaking. 

"Then, Phantom Gryphon attacks Abaki! Go, my servant, and do my bidding!" 

Bakura's eyes flew wide with genuine alarm as he took the hit—eight hundred, total, considering Abaki's effect. His Life dropped to 400, while the priest's fell to 2900. Bakura staggered slightly. 

"Better come up with something quick," the priest said softly. "Or this match will end sooner than I thought." 

Bakura's heartbeat, in his own ears, was almost deafening. _This next draw... everything rests... on this next draw._ He looked at Contract with the Dark Master—it had been the topmost card on his deck, the first card he had drawn in the duel. _Do you want me to summon you so badly, Dark Master...?_ But if he drew Zorc's card on this turn, it would do him no good—he didn't have the tributes necessary to summon his Dark Master. _There must be a card in my deck..._ Closing his eyes, he drew a card; opened them, just a crack, and sucked in a sharp breath. 

"Hello, my friend..." he breathed, then raised his voice. "I tribute Souls of the Forgotten to summon Diabound Kernel! Come, my loyal and faithful servant!" 

The priest grimaced; took a slight step backwards as the huge white serpent, hissing, heeded Bakura's summon. The tiny thief held out his hand. 

"Diabound, attack his Gryphon!" 

The priest took a step backwards as his monster was destroyed. Bakura crossed his arms. 

"Down to 2500 Life." 

"You're one to talk," the priest sneered. 

"Take it away, if you can!" Bakura snapped. "Take my Life—you won't take my pride, though! You won't defeat my Diabound!" 

The priest grimaced, then drew a card. "I summon One-Eyed Shield Dragon, to defend. I end my turn." 

Diabound hissed; lashed its tail across the dusty ground as Bakura drew a card. _Good... even if I can't use Spirit Shield or Zoma, I can still strengthen my defenses... I can't take huge risks, not with four hundred life points and only two cards in my hand..._ "I set one card, and I summon The Gross Ghost of Fled Dreams, to defend! Diabound, attack his defender!" 

One-Eyed Shield Dragon shrieked; vanished. The priest, impassive, drew a card; suddenly began to smile. 

"I set one card, and then set one monster to defend. I end my turn." 

Bakura shivered slightly; sensed the change in his opponent. _He drew his rare card, I know it... His set card... is Change of Heart..._ Bakura glanced up at Diabound—his treasured ally, in duels; representation of his pride. The idea of having it taken from him—stolen, as he had acquired it, seemingly so long ago—made his insides twist. _But if I manage to draw the Dark Master, and tribute Diabound and The Gross Ghost... then he'll just take control of Zorc, instead..._ Bakura held his hand over his deck; thought again, _It all rests on this draw... this card will decide my strategy... or,_ he acknowledged with a smirk, _I could draw a completely useless card. Wouldn't that be anticlimactic?_

"I draw!" 

Bakura looked at his card; his eyes widened. _That's it..._ "I set one card," he called, "and switch The Gross Ghost of Fled Dreams into position to attack! Then, Diabound attacks your defender!" 

The priest watched with shrewd eyes as his defending monster was blown to pieces, and Bakura laughed—an artificial little cackle, much like Abaki's. 

"I end my turn!" 

The priest's eyes narrowed—flicked to The Gross Ghost of Fled Dreams, left in attack position but not utilized. "That scared of my set card?" he asked, his voice low. "You had the opportunity for a direct attack." 

"Scared?" Bakura echoed, with a mock-innocent pout. "Who's scared? I'm not scared. Should I be?" _Attack me!_

Diabound's tail flicked across the dusty ground. 

"You have only four hundred Life left... I'd expect you to play a bit more cautiously." 

"Caution doesn't win games. Any good duelist knows that." _Attack me!_ Bakura tried to keep the grin off his face. _Come! Use your rare card—come at me!_

The priest drew a card, face deeply contemplative. 

_He doesn't have any tribute fodder on his field..._ Bakura thought, _so the chances of him summoning a high-level monster are low. The Gross Ghost of Fled Dreams has 1300 attack... so unless he can summon a monster with 1700 attack or more attack, he has one choice if he wants to finish me, this turn... and he certainly should_ want _to finish me, this turn..._

"I flip my set card!" the priest announced, and Bakura felt adrenaline spike his blood. _It's begun!_ "My card is Change of Heart, and it's target is Diabound Kernel! I take control of Diabound Kernel for the rest of this turn!" 

The serpent shrieked; thrashed, as a strange light emanated from the spell card. Bakura's lips framed the word, _Sorry,_ as the great snake was dragged—struggling—onto the to the priest's side of the field. It stretched its jaws, soundlessly, as it was turned to face Bakura, and he felt himself begin to tremble. 

_I don't fear you, my friend. Don't worry. I won't let you attack me._ "Now, prepare yourself, child! In leaving The Gross Ghost of Fled Dreams in position to attack, you've sealed your fate!" The priest pointed. "Diabound—" 

"I flip my set card!" Bakura's voice came out more strained than he would have counted on, but the card still responded; rose up. "Threatening Roar! I was waiting for this moment—for you to use Change of Heart! For this turn, you can't declare an attack! And, after this turn, Change of Heart's effect will wear off!" 

The priest took a step backwards, his eyes flicking to his own continuous trap—Xing Zhen Hu. 

"Just because you've locked away two of my cards doesn't mean I can't set others," Bakura said. "An inconvenient trap, sure, but far from impossible to work around." When the priest didn't reply, he demanded, "Do you have anything of use in your hand? Now would be the time to play it, if you do!" 

The priest hesitated for another moment, then lowered his head and his hand. "I end my turn." 

Diabound, released, slithered back to Bakura's side of the field; rose up and hissed at the priest. Bakura, with a satisfied smile, drew his card—drew _the_ card. 

"I activate the ritual spell, Contract with the Dark Master!" Bakura declared, holding up the card. The priest's eyes widened sharply, and he took a step back. "I tribute The Gross Ghost of Fled Dreams and Diabound Kernel—come, Dark Master - Zorc! Heed my summon!" 

Violet lightning crackled through the air as the ruins glowed ever-brighter; Diabound got in one last hiss at the priest before it vanished into the ritual spell's vortex, and Dark Master Zorc stepped out of the whirlwind into being. The monster towered above the priest, and even taller above young Bakura; it roared. 

"You have no monsters on your field!" Bakura shouted. "Dark Master - Zorc attacks—directly!" 

The priest screamed as the attack hit him; his eyes rolled back, and he fell to the ground a moment later. Bakura, too, collapsed onto his knees, breathing hard; spent. But he only allowed himself a moment before he struggled up; limped over to where the priest lay sprawled out, and picked through the cards that had materialized around him.

 _Change of Heart..._ It glimmered when he held it up to the firelight, as if pulverized jewels or special ink had been rubbed into the papyrus. He admired the artwork absently—the division between light and dark, so starkly portrayed in a single individual.

"It's a good card, child."

Bakura spun; nearly tripped, in his surprise, and stared up at the Dark Master. Zorc hadn't dematerialized.

"Great Ra..."

"Ra has no say in this," Zorc growled, then stooped slightly to bring himself closer to Bakura's level. The small thief took a single step—not away, but toward the monster. "I will vanish, soon. But find me tonight, in the realm of dreams. I'll show you something even better than that card."

"Wait—!" Bakura called out, as the monster began to vanish. Zorc's jaws twisted in something like a human smile, and then he was gone. Bakura, again, crumpled onto his knees. His whole body was shaking—not with fear, or even exhaustion, but with exhilaration; with _elation_.

 _Dark Master... Dark Master—!_ He bent; pressed his forehead to the ground as the reformed card fluttered down before him. "Thank you, Dark Master!"

... ... ...

Bakura dreamed in shades of violet.

He came to with a card in his hand—not Zorc, but Contract with the Dark Master. Feeling himself smile, he held it up.

"Spell, activate: Contract with the Dark Master!"

The sandy terrain began to swirl, billowing up to form the outline, then the shape of the monster. Then the Dark Master himself stood before him, and Bakura felt his heart leap.

"Well done, child. And you actually showed up." The monster's voice sounded pleased. "It's a good thing my card ended up in the hands of someone like you."

Bakura held his gaze. "What are you? Are all monsters sentient?"

The monster chuckled—a sound like bone crunched between the fangs of a beast. "Sharp, too. Yes... all monsters were once living beings of varying power, sealed long ago into stone tablets. The cards you now print and distribute and use in your duels allow our power to be harnessed."

"Of varying powers... and you're one of the strongest."

Zorc gave a pleased sound that rumbled in the landscape around them, making grains of sand leap up and dance. "Yes. Second only to the Three Who are Lost to Time."

"I am honored to command you in battle, then."

Zorc's eyes narrowed. "You do not command me, child."

"I do," Bakura said, with certainty and due reverence. "I hold you in the _highest_ regard, Dark Master, but I am the one who decides how the cards are played."

There was a beat of silence, and then Zorc said, "... Yes. Of course. Well, I can do more than win you duels, child."

"Oh?"

"Yes..." The monster stooped, bringing himself closer to the human's level. "I grant wishes to mortals. What do you say, child? Willing to enter a contract with me?"

"Of course. That's already what we're doing, isn't it?"

"Perceptive..." the monster chuckled. "Perhaps we are. But this is a bit more serious. The payment for favors in duels is negligible, especially if you win. But the cost of a granted wish is a piece of your soul."

"That's fine," Bakura said, without noticeable pause.

Zorc chuckled again. "Do you place so little stock in the afterlife? Or is there something you just want _that badly_?"

"A little bit of both, I think."

"Alright," Zorc rumbled, jaws twisting in a terrible smile. "What's your wish, little one?"

"To have the power to be called King—King of Thieves."

"Very good... what a wish that is. Excellent..." Zorc nodded. "Granting it will be a great pleasure."

"Tell me what I need to do."

"Very well." The monster scratched five rectangles into the purple desert soil. "This place... is called... the Shadow Realm." He wrote that out, too, in hieroglyphs. "There are five cards—the Destiny Board trap, and the four Spirit Message spells—that will allow you to enter and exit this place freely, in wakefulness as well as in sleep. You can act as a spirit in a world of mortals—impossible to capture, impossible to imprison, impossible to escape from. You can even pull others into the Shadow Realm, and punish them however you see fit. This is the power you seek."

Bakura nodded slowly. "The cards... where will I find them?"

"Here is where it gets difficult. Your conviction will be tested."

"Trials of endurance don't frighten me. Trials don't frighten me at all, Zorc. If I decide I have to, I'll bear anything for any length of time."

"Very well. The cards, then, are in the pharaoh's palace. To obtain them, you'll have to get yourself caught."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments and/or kudos, if you enjoyed--they really make my day! ;w; See you guys soon~ 
> 
>  
> 
> ~~In the first draft of this, the priest actually used a Lightsworn deck. But great Osiris, the milling strategies of that deck got _incredibly_ tedious to write, and I just _could not_... In other news, Bakura really does love how annoying trap-based strategies can be, to his opponents... x'D~~


	3. Marked as King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update so soon?? As I mentioned, these two chapters were supposed to be one, I just wasn't quite sure how long this part would take, so I figured I'd post the prior as soon as I could. Turns out I was pretty much done with this second half anyway, HA. 
> 
> There's a tidbit of Atem's backstory posted [over here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13818006/chapters/32529132) that may shed a bit of light on the current political state in this AU, do check that out if you haven't already! ~~/if you want to, it's more supplemental than necessary...~~
> 
> Where do _you_ think Bakura got his scar from? I'd love to hear your guys' headcanons! :'D

Bakura _hated_ the feeling of shackles. 

Head down, he scuffed along with several other thieves and petty criminals who had been apprehended by the pharaoh's guard. Though they'd searched him, briefly, for weapons—and relieved him of several—they hadn't found the three cards sewed into his clothes, tucked close up on the side of his rib cage. There were other children, among the apprehended, and it was easy for him to blend in. 

He heard one man, a scarred old vagabond who was missing several fingers, whisper something about a child with gray hair. None of the others seemed receptive to the gossip. 

As Zorc had told him, the little group of prisoners was herded down into musty prison cells below the pharaoh's palace. The palace grounds they glimpsed, ever so briefly, were lush—the cultivated greenery made Bakura's skin crawl with jealousy, and he could smell something good cooking. A child was playing on the grass—a child with spiked hair of red and black; a child dripping in as much gold and silk as such a tiny frame could realistically hold. The child watched the prisoners be paraded by with wide, curious eyes; he seemed abnormally small, and Bakura wondered how that could be, when he couldn't possibly have gone hungry a day in his short life. Bakura felt his lip curl as the child's eyes—innocent, ignorant, spoiled—met his own. There couldn't have been more than a year's difference in their ages, but their lives couldn't have been more dissimilar. 

Bakura wasn't troubled by the lock that the guards slid into place, on the cell door. He knew the type of mechanism well, and was confident he could undo it within heartbeats' time. The problem would be the others in the cell—the thieves and rascals he had been thrown in with. His fingers brushed the cards, seeking reassurance, though to those around him it would seem a gesture of fear—a light embrace of one's own chest. 

_Help me out, here..._

Though he honestly hadn't expected the cards to respond, there came a sudden shriek from the other side of the cell. Bakura glanced over; saw that several people were scrambling away from something white—a snake. Bakura's eyes widened. 

_Diabound...?_ It was too much to pass off as mere coincidence, but Bakura didn't pause to consider it. Making quick work of the lock, he slipped out into the dungeon's hallway; almost as an afterthought, he latched the door again behind him. The commotion about the snake would be enough to catch any guard's attention, and allowing the others to escape would only be inviting trouble. 

"Hey!" One of the children, less easily preoccupied by the snake, spotted him; pointed. But by the time anyone else looked, Bakura was gone, scampering down the hallway and vanishing into a crevice in the worn wall. He waited there, for a moment, until the excited voices from within the cell had died down to a soft murmuring. Breathing a sigh of relief, he slipped out into the hallway again. 

The butt of a dagger came down, hard, on the top of Bakura's head. His cry came out choked, vision distorting wildly in the wake of the blow, and he felt himself stumble. 

"And how exactly did _you_ slip out?" the guard growled, seizing the back of his shirt. Bakura went limp, even as he was dragged back towards the older man. "Just shows you why you can't so much as turn your back on a thief... for Ra's sake..." 

Gauging the man's location and posture from the sound of his voice, Bakura lashed out backwards; kicked the guard's shin and knocked one ankle out from under him. The man cursed and cried out in surprise, but the slackening of his grip was all it took for Bakura to scramble away and dart down the hallway. He passed the cell again—the others were clustered at the bars, cheering or cursing him as he ran. 

It wasn't as if he could run for long—he knew that, and was suddenly and horribly convinced that he'd made a grave error. 

The sound of scales scraping against stone filled the air; wreathed around him like music played in a marketplace. The guard's pursuing footsteps fell suddenly silent, and Bakura threw himself into a crevice high up in the wall. He squirmed; thrashed; bitterly missed, for a moment, the starvation leanness he'd lost, feeling his skin scraped off in multiple places by the stone. Grunting softly with the pain, he forced himself further into the narrow gap in the stone, then fell perfectly still. He listened to the ruckus as they searched for him; heard the tramp of guards' feet and the demanding questions directed at those he'd left in the cell. 

Zorc had shown him, through dreams within the Shadow Realm, exactly where the cards were kept. Many times, in his dreams, Bakura had walked the palace halls. Once he had the cards in his possession, Zorc had promised, he would have such power in the waking world, as well—he could go wherever he pleased, fazing in and out of the physical world at will. What Bakura had failed to prepare adequately for was traversing the palace halls while they were crawling with living people. 

_Damn you, Zorc... and you didn't think to warn me..._

When the halls had fallen silent—and after he had waited considerable time longer, to be sure—Bakura wriggled back out and stepped tentatively down from his hiding spot. He straightened his clothes; felt quickly for the cards to make sure they hadn't been damaged in the frantic scramble. 

_Thanks, Diabound..._

Careful, this time, to avoid disruptions of any sort, Bakura slunk up and out of the dungeons. The guards were easy—with careful observation, patience, and stealth—to sneak by. The palace was just as it had appeared in his dreams, minus the eerie purple glow that clung to everything in the Shadow Realm. 

_Once I get a hold of the cards... escape won't be an issue. I shouldn't worry too much about having a strategy for getting_ out _, since I'll be able to access the Shadow Realm..._ He could see, though a window, that royal child still playing in the verdant grass, despite the approaching dusk. 

Bakura moved quickly and silently, stealing through the palace halls until he came to the entrance to the basement. The underground duel field, seen in his dreams, was grander than anything he had imagined could exist, and he craved the day he could have a duel there. He wanted, more than anything, to see Dark Master Zorc standing victorious over that field, and to bask in the ecstasy of total subjugation of his opponent. 

_Someday... I'll have a duel here,_ he thought, as he descended the steps; as he emerged from the stairwell, and saw the grand field in the waking world for the first time. _But not today. Today I'm just here for the cards._

The pharaoh was the one who technically owned the cards, but for whatever reason he never used them. Bakura wondered—and indeed, Zorc hadn't known, either—if the pharaoh even knew what powers they held. They had been a gift from some foreign monarch, apparently. 

_"So other places play Duel Monsters?"_ Bakura had asked, sitting cross-legged before the Dark Master in the Shadow Realm. 

_"Play?" Zorc rumbled. "No. But other places know of us. They know of_ monsters _, and of spells and traps. And they use those things. But only here has this wonderful game developed. Only Egypt pursues the true_ potential _of Duel Monsters."_

_Bakura thought that over, for a moment, and then asked, "Why were the monsters sealed away, originally?"_

_Zorc shook his massive head; rumbled with something like a chuckle. "Because man lusted after our power, little one. If only he'd realized that we're always willing to make deals..."_

"Hey!" 

Bakura was startled from his reverie by the shout of a guard; his head snapped up, and he bolted for the statue of Feral Imp, sitting crouched atop a stone chest. On first glance, the chest seemed to be a part of the statue, but Bakura knew that it was, instead, used as storage for rare cards. He got one hand on the stone before the back of his shirt was seized, and he cried out as he was hauled backwards. 

"Thieving little rat!" the guard exclaimed, then chuckled. Bakura writhed; fought, as the man wrestled him to the ground. Though Bakura was more than capable of felling larger opponents, this one was trained to fight—this one pinned him efficiently and effectively, and within a few heartbeats Bakura was trapped, face-down, against the dusty ground of the duel arena. The guard bound his wrists roughly, then flipped the child onto his back so they faced one another. "Thought you'd make off with a few cards? How'd you even know they were down here, though...?" 

Bakura spat in the man's face, and the guard gave a yelp of surprise and disgust. He smacked Bakura's temple, and the boy winced as his head bounced against the ground. His vision was obscured, for a moment, by blinding white speckles, and when he managed to blink the distortion away, he found a knife poised above his right eye. 

"You know what the punishment is for thieves, don't you?" the guard asked, even as Bakura began to thrash and shriek curses and objections. The man adjusted his grip so that he could hold Bakura's chin; Bakura jerked, desperately and uselessly, at his hands—bound and trapped beneath him. "Let's make a mark on this little face of yours, shall we? Then _everyone_ will know you're a thieving little cur as soon as they lay eyes on you." 

"Stop!" Bakura screamed, kicking out futility. The guard chuckled. 

"If you thrash about, I may just take out an eye by mistake... well, it'll be easier to say it was by mistake, at least..." 

Bakura felt the tip of the knife pierce his lower eyelid; jerked his head up with a cry, to distance the blade from his eye, and in doing so gouged his cheek across it. Gasping with pain, he scarcely heard the guard's laughter over the roar of blood in his ears. 

"This'll teach you to mock the pharaoh, little thief..." The man slashed—twice, in quick succession—laterally across Bakura's cheek, and the child screamed again. "Let's do the other cheek to match, now, before we blind you properly. If you beg, I might leave you just one eye, so you can see people recoil from your marred, ugly face!" 

Bakura felt salty tears sting the wound on his cheek. His chest convulsed with a sob that he tried to swallow down, but couldn't manage to repress. _Help... Help! Someone... Someone...! I will not... I refuse... I won't submit, not like this...! I won't! I won't!_ "Stop it...! Stop it!" 

The cards, tucked against the left side of his rib-cage, close to his pounding heart, hummed. 

The guard cried out suddenly; froze, atop Bakura, and the small thief forced his eyes to open. Half his vision was tinted red with blood, but he twisted his head to follow the man's stunned gaze. A huge, pale serpent was manifesting on the duel field, tail thrashing against the dusty ground in a mimicry of Bakura's struggles. 

"Diabound..." 

"I-Impossible!" the guard screamed, as the snake bore it's deadly fangs. The guard scrambled backwards, and Bakura kicked out wildly to get his feet under him; to scrabble away, closer to the duel field and so closer to the monster. His breath came in pained gasps as he blinked, trying and failing to clear the blood from his vision. He glanced up at Diabound; the white snake appeared, to him, tinted scarlet. "Get away! Get away!" 

Bakura struggled to his feet; shook his head, scattering blood, as Diabound hissed. He faced the guard, then, bracing his feet wide and narrowing his burning eyes. 

"Run. Run away! If you _beg_ , I may not come after you!" 

The guard obeyed; scrambled away and ran, his terrified shouts for reinforcements carrying as he raced up the stairs. Bakura staggered; sensed Diabound beside him, and turned. The snake bumped it's nose into his small chest, then bade him turn and opened it's jaws. Bakura, understanding, cut the rope that bound his hands on one of it's sharpened fangs. 

"Thank you, Diabound..." he breathed, then reached out. The monster hummed contentedly, flicking it's tongue at him and then pushing it's head against him. His arms scarcely encircled its head, but Bakura embraced it as best he could. "Come back into your card, now. We have to go." 

Diabound hummed again, softly, and began to dissipate. Bakura checked to see that its card was securely in place before he made for the chest, hearing the tramp of guards' feet coming down the stairs. 

"Destiny Board..." Bakura breathed, feeling the crisp papyrus in his hands. He picked up the Spirit Message spells, too, and then waited until the guards pounded into view at the base of the staircase. They exchanged shouts and wild gestures as Bakura raised the card; declared, "Trap, activate: Destiny Board!" 

The world went violet—a wave of translucent color that spread out from the trap card. When it reached the guards, they vanished; faded like mist as the physical world was overwritten by the Shadows. Bakura heard his own voice raised in a triumphant shout, though his face was still searing with pain. He crumpled, a moment later, onto his knees, gasping softly for any modicum of breath. 

There was a quiet humming behind him; he twisted, and saw Diabound manifested just behind him, it's great head lowered to his child's level. 

"Diabound..." he breathed, then nodded. "My pride... right..." Getting to his feet, Bakura looked around. He could see the indistinct shapes of the guards racing around, searching for him. Several phased through him, as he observed their movements, and after a moment he struck out towards the staircase. It was exactly like when he dreamed of the Shadow Realm, yet each step he took was heavy with the idea that _this was real_. Diabound slithered along behind him as he ascended from the basement; emerged into the palace and took stock of his options. 

"What should I do with this power, Dia...?" 

The snake flicked its tongue; bore its fangs briefly, then sunk submissively down beside his hand. Bakura patted its head. 

"Right. This power... the power to be called the King of Thieves... I'll make use of it." Using his free hand, he wiped his eye; brushed the fresh wound, oozing blood and clear fluids to drip down his face. "Let's go." 

Diabound followed, for a time, but had dissipated by the time Bakura reached the dungeons once again. When he arrived at the right cell—empty, in the Shadow Realm, but filled with prisoners in the physical world—he murmured, "Trap, deactivate." The violet light died out, around him; the world came into sharper focus, and suddenly the people in the cell appeared in vivid color. When they noticed him, a clamor started up immediately—a tumult of voices asking where he'd come from, how he'd appeared out of nothingness, how he'd escaped, why he'd come back, and every other question they could manage to ask him. They asked him who he was. 

"I am the King of Thieves." Bakura's voice shook. "Remember that." And he unlocked the cell; let the door swing wide, even as the royal guards began to appear in response to the commotion. 

"Hey!" shouted one such guard, rushing forward—foolish, as he was all but trampled by the dozens of prisoners suddenly freed. The two forces clashed—guards, with their swords and khopeshs, and prisoners with their bare hands and hatred. As blood spattered the stone walls, Bakura looked down at the card that had reformed in his hand; smiled. 

"Trap, activate: Destiny Board." 

The chaotic scene vanished in a haze of purple, and Bakura walked easily through the space where the conflict would be taking place. Almost lackadaisically, he made his way back out of the dungeon and into the deserted courtyard. He knew it was late evening, but the Shadow Realm existed in eternal twilight. 

_I am the King of Thieves. Now... what should I steal?_

Bakura strolled into the throne room unopposed; if he focused, he could see shadows where people stood or sat. He wove around them contemplatively, then scrambled up onto the arm of the throne itself and perched there. 

"Trap, deactivate." 

Instantly, this time, in a flash of brilliant white, the physical world came into being around him—he, rather, came into being in the physical world. The man in the pharaoh's throne—not the pharaoh Aknamkanon, but his brother Aknadin—started violently at finding the bloody-faced little thief mere inches from him. 

"Hello, King of Egypt," Bakura said, even as confusion erupted around him. "I'm the King of Thieves. Pleased to meet you." 

As Aknadin stared, open-mouthed, Bakura snatched a scarab crest from his head and then leaped back, off the arm of the throne. A spear flew at him, but he dodged it easily; scampered backwards and murmured, "Spell, activate: Desinty Board!" as one guard swung a khopesh towards him. The guard—and the weapon, more importantly—vanished a heartbeat later as the world went suddenly dim and violet, and Bakura heard himself laugh. 

"The King of Thieves, indeed..." He held up the scarab—a weighty piece of gold, wide enough to serve as a mirror. It was then that Bakura saw, for the first time, the extent of the damage to the right side of his face, and his smile faltered. His elation, a moment before, vanished, and he had the sensation of falling from a great height. 

It hurt. It _hurt_. 

"Gods..." he breathed, touching the swath of clotted blood that obscured his entire cheek; bright red still dripped down his chin, indicating that the wound hadn't closed up entirely, even then. He scraped at it experimentally; hissed with the pain. "Oh gods..." 

Revulsion and disgust welled up in him, then, and Bakura dropped the piece of treasure. _For this treasure... for this ability, to mock the pharaoh himself..._ Still within the purple-tinted throne room, Bakura fell to his knees. _I've failed... I've failed far worse than I thought I could..._ Though some small part of him realized that the reaction was irrational, he couldn't control it. Perhaps, he thought, the sensation of victory had been forced; a lie to himself and to the world from the very start. For that moment, he wasn't a King of anything—he was only Bakura, a thief with no name, who'd managed to mutilate his face beyond his own recognition.

Without bothering to pick up the scarab crest, Bakura slunk away; stole away, though the Shadows, and fled from the palace. 

... ... ... 

Bakura _screamed_. He let himself scream until he was hoarse; until he couldn't get breath into his lungs; until the whole of Egypt had likely heard his tortured shrieks.

His face _hurt_. It _hurt_ , and he was frustrated, and he was _furious_. 

A white shake twined up around his chest, and he quieted a bit to avoid harming it. He stroked its head. 

"Hey... Sorry... Yeah, but I needed that..." 

Reaching up, Bakura brushed the blood caked on his cheek. It still felt hot, and throbbed when he touched it. A bit crumbled off, maroon dust left in his hand. 

"Ra curse it!" 

Careful of the snake, Bakura rifled through his clothes until he found the kerchief-wrapped pieces of papyrus he had risked so much—and lost so much—for. He examined the first and most important: "Destiny Board, D." 

_These cards are the power I've said I'll trade a piece of my soul for..._

"Well done, child..." Though it was faint, he heard Zorc's voice; the white snake hissed. "Come, then... have a chat with me..." 

Nodding slightly, Bakura laid down the card. "Trap, activate: Destiny Board, D." 

It seemed, for a split second, as if all the oxygen had left the world. A haze of purple flooded in around him, and then Bakura found himself face to face with the Dark Master Zorc. To his surprise, he glanced around at a soft hissing; found Diabound, too, behind him. 

"Well done, child," Zorc said. "Got a bit of a scratch, in the process, but you did it." 

"And where exactly were you?!" Bakura demanded, taking an aggressive step forward despite the mind-boggling difference in their physical sizes. "You're the one who was supposed to get me this power!" 

"I'm sealed inside a playing card," Zorc said, his tone a mockery of patience. "Exactly what did you expect _me_ to do?" 

"Diabound helped me." 

Zorc's gaze switched to the serpentine monster behind the boy. "It did, now? Did it... what a loyal servant you are, Diabound..." 

Diabound hissed; bore fangs as large as Bakura was tall. 

"What _exactly_ did you do to deserve a piece of my soul?" Bakura demanded. 

"You're here now, aren't you?" Zorc replied. "You have the power you wished for." 

Bakura spat into the purple-tinted sand. "And I got it by my _own_ strength, not yours!" 

"You never would have known it existed, if not for me." 

"And what happens if I _don't_ give up a piece of my soul?" Bakura challenged. "You're trapped in a playing card, didn't you just say? What can you do?" 

"We made a deal," Zorc said. 

"And I don't think you upheld your end worth shit!" Bakura retorted. 

"If you intend to use this power, you will see _me_ each time you enter the Shadow Realm..." Zorc growled, his voice making grains of sand leap up around them. "I _rule_ this place. Only those who pay what they owe me may pass through it alive." 

"I'm not afraid of _any_ threat you could make!" Bakura yelled up, and one massive, taloned hand swung towards him. He braced, throwing up his arms, but looked up at the solid _thud_ of flesh on flesh. 

Zorc roared. 

"Diabound!" Bakura called out. The serpent had it's fangs clamped around Zorc's arm; refused to be shaken, when the Dark Master tried to throw it back. Zorc roared again, indigo miasma seeping from the bite wound. 

"Cursed beast!" Zorc roared, bashing his fist into Diabound's head. The serpent didn't release it's grip, but two more such blows broke it's jaw. With an ungodly scream, the snake fell back; Bakura called out to it, and it tried to rise. But Zorc stomped down onto it's flailing body; crushed it until it's belly split and poured miasma out onto the sand. 

"Stop it!" Bakura shouted, rushing forward. Zorc stepped back when Bakura reached the serpent and crouched down beside its head. The great snake moved weakly to meet his touch. 

"In the absence of the Three Lost to Time, I am the only god this world has," Zorc rumbled, stooping to bring himself closer to Bakura's level. Diabound hissed, despite its broken jaw, but Bakura placed himself in front of it. 

"I don't care about my soul, Dark Master. I never did. But now I know how things will be, between us." He spread his arms. "Take what you want." 

Zorc's mouth warped into something like a grin. "That's more like it..." he said, and placed the tip of one claw on Bakura's forehead.

... ... ... 

Bakura gasped, re-materializing in the real-world desert. The quiet night air was undisturbed. His Diabound card fluttered down into his lap, and he glanced down to see Zorc's card beside him.

"I'm sorry, Diabound..." he breathed, pressing the card briefly to his forehead. "Please, continue to fight beside me." 

The card hummed slightly against his skin, like the flick of a snake's tongue, and Bakura smiled. Then, though his bones were weary, he rose; walked all the way back to town, then through it, via the shadowed back allies, to the banks of the Nile. 

_I suppose I could have made that trip by the Shadow Realm..._ he thought ruefully, as he splashed water onto his face. _But why would I?_ In the brilliant moonlight, he examined his reflection; traced the wound with careful fingers. _Ouch. There goes any hope I had of anonymity..._

The cut was long—halfway down his cheek, and with two slashes across it. It would do exactly what punishments of mutilation were supposed to: make him easily identified. 

_The cost was too high..._

Bakura rose; gave his head a shake to scatter water. He wasn't hungry, per say, but he knew himself well enough to know that that was due to anxiety more than anything. He hadn't eaten since early that morning, before he'd gotten himself captured. He was far too tired to try to fish, so he sighed; trudged over to a stand, and a man that was still selling his catch so late into the night. 

"I'll take those," he said, pointing to a string of small, almost bite-sized fish. Their bones, he knew, were soft enough to eat, and they wouldn't take much effort to swallow before he could let himself sleep. 

"Alright, that'll—" the shopkeeper began, then stalled. Bakura narrowed his eyes. 

"What?" 

"Y-You're... that..." 

Bakura remembered the cut suddenly; cursed under his breath and started to search in his clothes for payment. "Look, I'm not going to—" 

"You're the King of Thieves!" 

Bakura blinked; looked up in surprise at the fish merchant, and said dumbly, "Y-Yeah. That's right. What about it?" 

"Take them!" the merchant said, holding out the fish. "I have—let me—" He twisted; rustled about until he found a little earthenware jar. "Medicine for that cut. If you only wash it out in the Nile, it might not heal properly." 

When Bakura took the offering, the merchant beamed; bowed. 

"Please remember my kindness, as your power in the city grows!" 

And Bakura nodded. "Yeah... my gratitude... You will be remembered, by the King of Thieves."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this is, of course, an AU, I do think that canon!Bakura's scar was a mutilation-based punishment, probably acquired when he was quite young. And that makes me sad. ;_;  
>  
> 
> ~~*sobs quietly because Atem had a cameo in this chapter...* *rolls into a pre-dug grave because of what's coming in later installments*~~


	4. Thief and King and Killer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I ever mention in FLoPaK that Yami!B wasn't going to show up in this AU? Yeah, I may have lied just slightly.

Bakura's wish came true. 

The Thief King no longer wandered from city to city—he settled in Kul Elna, a moderately-sized city some twenty miles from the capitol. Notoriety was a power he wielded, now, not a burden he ran from. Thieves and swindlers and all other criminals flocked to him, though he was still a young boy, and begged to enter his service. Though the worst of the famine had passed, there was still a power void left by the largely uninvolved pharaoh—a void and a sense of desperation for the feeling of security that following a strong leader offered. 

As Bakura's network of underlings grew, so too did his connections with legal businesses and temples—no one wanted to be a target, for the Thief King. It became unnecessary, rather quickly, for him to actually steal anything to survive. His heists became merely for show, to increase his own reputation, and for the sheer joy of the act. On the former, they grew increasingly ostentatious; on the latter, they began to focus on his incredible and ever-growing affinity for precious stones. 

By the time Bakura was sixteen, his power—at least within the city of Kul Elna and the surrounding area—was nearing something absolute. 

"You've done very well for yourself, borrowing my power, haven't you?" 

Bakura grunted, tearing into the roast pig he was enjoying. He wasn't in the Shadow Realm, at the moment, but Zorc's voice had grown continually stronger over the years. He thought it was likely that, when Zorc had removed a part of his soul, the monster had implanted a piece of himself in its place. He tried not to be troubled over that, although Zorc was far from a treasured comrade—more often, was merely an annoyance, outside of duels. 

"It's my power. I paid for it, remember?" 

"You do keep saying that... Dear child, believe what you want." 

Bakura glanced down at the human head on the floor. He'd cut it off himself when one of his messengers had brought him bad news, that morning. The blood was crusting in the expensive rug he'd stolen from a spice merchant earlier that month. 

"I'm bored..." he sighed, leaning back. "What should I do today, Zorc? Any ideas?" 

"Kill the pharaoh?" 

"Nah. His successor's too much of a wild card. I'm comfortable with this one and his inability to control his own cursed kingdom." 

Zorc chuckled. "Then how about we kill his successor?" 

"Stupid beast..." Bakura growled, sitting up and stretching languidly. He enjoyed the sense of physical strength that came with the movement; the ripple of well-fed and conditioned muscles. He glanced at the golden bangle on his wrist, encrusted with blood-red stones. His fondness for gems had only increased, as his collection grew, and they were one of the few things that didn't bore him. He examined the bracelet, stretching his hand out in front of him, and said, "That'll just piss off the pharaoh himself. He might actually try to do something about me, then. Don't wanna play with that fire." 

Again Zorc laughed. "How about we kill some—" 

"What is it with you and killing?" Bakura growled, getting up and kicking the head lightly. "You're the one who told me to kill this guy, too. And now the rug's all dirty." 

"Then steal another rug, today!" Zorc said. "That would be a great use of time." 

Bakura scowled; crammed the rest of his meal into his mouth and licked the grease from his fingers. Washing his hands briefly in a handy dish of water, he pulled out his Diabound Kernel card. 

"What do you think, Diabound?" 

"I haven't seen that snake around for a while," Zorc put in. "I think he's rather bored, too." 

Bakura frowned. _Diabound... my pride..._

"I've decided," he said, and Zorc made a questioning sound. "I'll have a duel, today. A proper one, at a duel field. It's been too long." 

"Whatever you want to do, King of Thieves... the world is your plaything." 

Nodding resolutely, Bakura picked up his deck and stowed it in an inside pocket of his beautiful red robe. As an afterthought, he picked up a collar he'd stolen a few days previous and tucked that into his robe, as well. 

Several thieves greeted him respectfully, on his way out of the hideout. His "hideouts" could hardly be called such, anymore, though he did have two or three he kept entirely private. More often than not, he could be found by anyone at any hour, provided they knew where to look or who to ask. He had no fear of arrest. 

On his way to a temple, he pulled up his hood; kept his head down, slightly, and managed a moment of anonymity as he slipped into a jewelry shop. He waited quietly until the one customer present had finished his business, then approached the counter. 

"Aah, Highness." The proprietor was a young woman, well-versed in her craft. Bakura thought she was pretty—beautiful even, like her wares—though he had no particular desire to court her; was unsure he would know how to go about courting anyone, even if he wanted to. As it was, he appreciated her attitude—it bordered on friendly, though he had no illusions regarding the working nature of their relationship. She was one of the many folk who willingly did business with the Thief King and his band, and so avoided becoming a target of their activities. "What can I do for you?" 

"How would you set these?" Bakura asked, his voice low. He slid the collar, with it's tiger's eye studding, across the counter. "I think I'm starting to understand—the setting is too deep, for stones of this size, but I'm not sure how to fix it." 

The woman smiled. "Well, you would make the insets shallower," she said. 

Bakura laughed. "Obviously. But how?" 

"Melt the metal, a bit, just enough to make it pliable," she said. "We can reshape the sockets, then, without fully removing or damaging the stones. Assuming you like the current shape of the piece, overall—otherwise, I'd say melt the gold down completely and start from scratch." 

"I'm rather fond of it, as a collar..." Bakura said. "Could you fix it for me, like you said?" 

The woman smiled. "Of course, Highness!" 

"Thanks." Waving, Bakura swished back out of the shop. He took a deep breath; carried on towards the temple to Anibus. 

"Thief King!" one of the priests greeted him, surprised. "Can we do something for you?" 

"Find me an opponent," was Bakura's growled reply. "I'm in the mood to duel." 

"Right away, Thief King. Please wait down at the duel field, if it pleases you."

Bakura nodded; stalked down into the basement of the temple. While he waited for an opponent to appear, sitting cross-legged on one side of the field, he flipped through his cards. 

"Diabound..." The white snake hadn't visited him in a while, in the Shadow Realm. As Zorc grew more omnipresent, the serpent's appearances had grown fewer and farther between. Bakura missed it. "Fight beside me again, old friend? It's been a while..." 

After some time, the priest arrived, pulling a young man along by the arm. The man seemed reluctant at best; at worst, terrified. 

"Welcome!" Bakura called, standing; the young man started violently, scrabbling backwards against the priest's grip. "Are you to be my opponent?"

"Do it, win or lose, and your transgression will be forgiven," the priest muttered, and thrust the man forward. The priest backed up as the man stumbled, then looked down, bewildered, at the cards in his hands. 

Bakura felt his lip curl—called out, "What's the matter? Aren't you honored to duel the King of Thieves?" 

The man's eyes darted about the room, never settling on Bakura's face. "H-Honored... so honored, Lord, I'm at a loss for words..." 

Bakura laughed. "Let's get some spirit into the thing! Let's make it interesting!" He shook his robe dramatically, sending dozens of gemstones and gold figurines and bits of jewelry clattering onto the ground. The man's eyes bugged. "Beat me, and it's all yours! Beat me and you'll have _three times_ this much treasure!" He laughed again, feeling adrenaline spike his blood like potent wine. "Win, and you'll be _rich_. Lose, and I'll kill you." 

The man froze; the priest, still standing at the side of the duel field, paled slightly. 

"That makes things interesting, doesn't it?" Bakura crooned, hearing Zorc's laughter ring in his ears. He hadn't intended to carry things so far, but he didn't question his own words. Such a bet _would_ make things interesting, and life could be so boring. 

The man, slightly panicked, took a sideways step towards the entrance; the priest hastily blocked his way, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like an ashamed apology. 

"Or I could just kill you now," Bakura called lightly. "Your choice. I was _rather_ looking forward to having a duel, though." 

The man began to shake—visibly, even from the other side of the duel field. "Wh-Whatever... you wish... my Lord..." 

"I'll go first, how 'bout that?" Bakura called. "I won't be able to attack on my first turn. Actually, how about this: I won't attack for my first _three_ turns. That's a nice little handicap, isn't it?" 

The man's eyes brightened a bit, and Bakura felt his smile grow nastier. _There we go... gotta get a_ bit _of spirit into you, give you a_ little _hope, or this'll be so dull I'll just_ die _._

"Here we go!" Bakura called, drawing his hand; his opponent did the same. _Well, well..._ "I summon Souls of the Forgotten, to defend! I set one card, and end my turn." 

His opponent looked at his hand, eyes as wide as those of a hunted animal seeking an escape route. Bakura glanced at the priest, still watching from the staircase. _Souls of the Forgotten isn't an intimidating card. You better have given this weakling a decent deck... The result's already been decided, but I_ am _still hoping for a bit of sport, out of the thing._

His opponent selected a card. "I s-summon Winged Dragon, Guardian of the Fortress #1. T-To attack!" He watched, fear momentarily giving way to awe, as the winged monster took form. 

Bakura smirked. "You know how to summon, at least! That's good!" 

The man cringed; glared with pathetic resentment across the field. "I-I set... one card..." he said, though his voice was fainter than he seemed to want it, "and Winged Dragon attacks your defender!" 

Bakura smiled as Souls of the Forgotten was destroyed; drew a card. "My turn—my second one." Diabound watched him, from his hand—the white serpent had been the topmost card of his deck. _All I need is a tribute to summon you, my friend... on my fourth turn... just wait..._ "I summon Abaki, to attack, and end my turn!" 

The cackling little fiend seemed even more animated than usual as it loped about his side of the duel field, and Bakura felt himself smile. _Are you glad of the chance to duel, too? Don't frighten our opponent too much, now... he may do something stupid, like try to run away..._

The man's eyes followed Abaki, growing larger with terror as the reality of the situation sunk in; if not for the handicap, his Winged Dragon would likely have been destroyed that very turn. He drew a card; switched his gaze, with some difficulty, back to the Thief King. 

"I draw... I tribute Winged Dragon, Guardian of the Fortress #1, to summon Battle Steer. Battle Steer attacks your monster!" 

Bakura felt his lip curl as the beast-warrior smashed through his screaming little fiend; wondered how Abaki felt about being sent to the graveyard without having a proper chance to battle. He relished the cold rush of sensation as his life points took 100 damage—and 500 more, then, thanks to Abaki's effect. His opponent's mouth twitched in something that tried to be a smile; something that fell short of being a smile. 

"You've wounded the King of Thieves..." Bakura purred, spreading his arms. He drew. "Well done." 

Diabound's card seemed to hum in his hand, just slightly. 

"I summon Earthbound Spirit, to defend. I end my turn." 

The man shivered violently as the creepy ghoul clawed its way out of the duel field's ground, moaning like a true, tormented undead. He glanced up at his Battle Steer; down at Earthbound Spirit, with 2000 defense. 

"I'll attack, on my next turn," Bakura called over, and the man jumped. "Not that Earthbound Spirit is much good for that, but we'll see what happens." 

The man's hand shook as he drew his next card. "I draw... I summon Prevent Rat to defend. I end my turn." 

_Hunkering down, ay? Very well!_ Bakura drew another card; grinned. "My turn, then! I tribute Earthbound Spirit to summon Diabound Kernel!" 

"I-I flip my set card...!" his opponent objected, and the card rose slowly. "Tribute to the Doomed!" 

" _My_ trap is Seven Tools of the Bandit!" Bakura crowed, as his set card flipped over with a mirage-like shimmer. "I pay 1000 life points to negate your spell, and destroy it!" 

The man's face paled impossibly as Tribute to the Doomed shattered; as the summon proceeded, Earthbound Spirit dissolving and the form of a serpent taking it's place. Bakura began to laugh, quietly; louder, then, as he lost himself in the triumphant moment. But as Diabound formed, he felt a cold shiver in his bones; faltered, and fell silent. 

As the winds stirred up by the summon faded, Diabound gave a grating hiss; collapsed, sideways, unable to stay upright. It's scales, instead of pure white, were a patchwork of angry red and necrotic black, wounds like the work of corrosive acid stretching across it's hide. It thrashed, agony as recognizable on it's face as it would be on any human's, and gave forth with a plaintive wailing. 

Bakura's face twisted with fury, even as his heart flipped end over end in his chest. He stalked across the field; kicked aside the gold he had scattered earlier. He passed Diabound, screaming softly as it lay, twitching, on the ground. The priest had vanished. 

"What have you _done_?!" he roared, grabbing his unwilling opponent's collar. The man, already shaking, began to sob. "What magic is this?!" 

Letting his cards fall, the man held up both his hands. "I-I didn't do anything...! I've never even dueled like this, b-before! I don't know, please...!" 

Again Bakura's face twisted, and he lifted the man; heard him gasp and wheeze as gravity made breathing difficult, though Bakura lacked the stature to lift him fully off the ground. 

Diabound shrieked softly. 

"You've forfeited this duel..." Bakura snarled; released the man's shirt and grabbed, instead, his head. The monster behind him wailed weakly, making the rage boil up in Bakura all the fiercer. He didn't hear the man's pleading—heard only the satisfying series of cracks as he twisted the man's head, snapping his neck quite thoroughly. 

Diabound cried out as the man hit the ground, and Bakura spun; went to his monster. 

"How did this happen...?" he breathed, touching Diabound's scales. Blackness corroded them, and in places the great snake's raw flesh was exposed. It tried to lift it's head, but managed only a weak thrashing against the ground. "Diabound... my friend..." 

"Not as powerful as you though, is it?" came Zorc's vitriolic voice. "It wasn't the enemy who weakened it—it's dying, slowly, of it's own accord. Soon, it'll be only dust." 

"What do you mean?!" Bakura demanded, twisting; Zorc was nowhere to be seen, and the dead man's monsters had already dissipated. Diabound gave a low, pained sound, and Bakura returned to it; stroked it's scaled muzzle. "Diabound... it's alright. I'm right here. What's happened to you...?" When the snake did not reply, he turned again and shouted. "Show yourself, Zorc! Explain!!" 

The body of the man he had killed jerked suddenly, and Bakura bristled. From the corpse's neck—torn open by the force of Bakura's own hands—flowed crimson blood, and it bubbled up into a small spring. As Bakura watched, horrified, the liquid formed the silhouette of a man—solidified, then, into the likeness of a young man with gray hair and a scarred face. His eyes, apparently empty sockets, glowed violet.

"Show myself?" the effigy crooned, licking it's lips. "What form would you prefer I take? It's a rather small room for the true Dark Master to manifest, so how about this one?" 

Diabound hissed furiously, though the sound faded into a pained whimper moments later. 

"What in Ammit...?" Bakura breathed, then shouted. "What is this, Zorc?! Explain!" 

"Zorc? Ah yes, I am Zorc..." the effigy said, chuckling. "I'm also the Thief King, and Bakura-who-has-no-name. Pity your feeble Diabound Kernel doesn't seem to care for me much." 

Bakura lunged; took a swing, but the other fazed out of physical existence and his fist sailed through empty air. Bakura stumbled forward, but didn't fall; spun again to face the effigy, seeing Diabound now behind other other's shoulder. 

"I grow ever-stronger inside you, Thief King," the figure said, spreading his hands. "You hate me? But do you really think you can tell us apart so clearly? How much is you and how much is me? _Are_ we two separate entities, now, or one in the very same?" 

"Shut up!" Bakura shouted, leaping again. The shadow figure slipped away beneath his grasping hands once again. 

"Why so very angry? I'm what you wanted—power." The shadow figure grinned. "Sometimes you have a give up a little pride, a little _self-identity_ to acquire power like that of the Thief King. So what's the matter?" 

"Shut up!!" Bakura shrieked, and tried for one last attack. This time, the Shadow Bakura caught his wrists; held them, with incredible strength, above his head. Bakura jerked and struggled, fighting to get free as the effigy brought their faces close together. 

"Stop resisting me," it crooned, only a whisper; it's breath smelled of rotting fish. "You'll only end up destroying yourself." 

Then it was gone, vanishing like a summoned monster, and Bakura's knees struck the ground with enough force to split the skin stretched across them. He twisted; saw Diabound, too, dissolving, and scrambled to the great serpent's side. 

"Diabound... Diabound, I'm so sorry..." 

The snake gave a soft, mournful sound; curled it's head inward so that it's chin bumped his shoulder, and then shuddered as it vanished entirely. Bakura fell forward onto his elbows; bent his head. 

"Damn it... _Damn it_!" 

When the Thief King struggled to his feet, he saw that the priest had returned. The man was pale, keeping his eyes deliberately off the corpse. 

"Thief King? Is there some way I can be of service?" 

"Yes," Bakura growled, as he collected the cards from his deck that had scattered. He didn't bother with the treasures he had dropped. "I want every scroll with even the briefest mention of 'The Dark Master,' 'Contract with the Dark Master,' or the name 'Zorc.' I don't care how obscure a text it is. If it mentions any of those things, I want it brought to me _immediately_. Get word to the other priests and scholars who are in my graces, too. I want every single scrap of papyrus that mentions Zorc, no matter how briefly." 

"Right away, Highness." The priest bowed; whisked off. As Bakura began to follow him, he glanced down at the man he had dueled so briefly. 

_Your only crime was weakness..._ he thought bitterly. _If men were supposed to be put to death for such things, I would already be buried and rotting. There was no reason to kill you, and yet..._

_"But do you really think you can tell us apart so clearly? How much is you and how much is me?_ Are _we two separate entities, now, or one in the very same?"_

Bakura grimaced. _We are_ not _the same. And I can tell when a thought is my own, especially now that I know you're here. You've tipped your hand, Zorc, and that's the biggest mistake you can make, in a duel._

... ... ... 

Over the next few days, countless books and scrolls and sheets of loose papyrus showed up at the main lair of the Thief King. He poured over each of them, searching for some clue, any clue.

From within his own mind, Zorc mocked his efforts mercilessly. 

"Damn it... _Damn it_!" Bakura drilled a hand through the priceless mosaic desktop, then cursed as the broken glass cut his hand. As he sucked on the bleeding knuckles, he glanced over at Diabound's card, where it lay beside his bed. 

_Days... days, and everything I've read is either stuff I already know or blatantly wrong... damn... Stay with me, Diabound... wait for me..._

"Diabound this, Diabound that," Zorc's voice rang out in his ears. "Pitiful. I should just kill the pretty little snake and be done with it." 

"Don't you dare!" Bakura growled, swinging as if to face the invisible voice. He was, of course, still alone. "You touch Diabound and I'll kill you." 

"You can't kill me, child. You'd kill yourself then, too. Don't you understand? We're _one_." 

"Shut up," Bakura spat. He glanced at Zorc's card, sitting on the floor several yards away, and contemplated _yet again_ destroying it. But he knew that would do no good. Zorc lived in the hollow spot in his own soul; had replaced a piece of Bakura with a piece of himself. 

_And that shadow entity... Shadow Bakura... is he the other piece of my soul, fuzed with Zorc?_

"Aah, you're giving me a damned headache..." the Thief King growled, collapsing back onto a chair filled with plush cushions. At least there was that, he thought—he at least had material comforts, now. He was so anxious, though, that he hadn't been able to finish his breakfast that morning, for fear of throwing it back up. That irritated him almost as much as Zorc's incessant voice in his head. 

"Thief King?" 

Bakura glanced up; saw the woman from the jewelry shop, standing in to doorway with one of his men. He blinked, surprised. 

"Oh. It's you." 

She held out the tiger's eye collar. "I wasn't sure if you wanted me to bring it to you, when it was finished. It's been a few days..." 

Bakura rose, feeling a smile come to his face. He'd forgotten all about the collar, if the truth was told, and it made for a delightful surprise. He waved his subordinate off, beckoned the jewelry seller inside, and closed the door behind her. 

"Ah! That looks so much better!" he exclaimed, taking the collar and holding it up. The girl nodded. 

"You have a good eye, Highness. Your assessment was very good." 

"You're just saying that because you're afraid of me," the Thief King said with a chuckle, unbothered by the fact. 

The girl looked genuinely surprised. "I am not. I have too high a regard for my craft to dole out such compliments lightly." 

"Ah, well..." Bakura smiled; softened. "It's nice, anyway. Here," he said, holding the collar back out. "Wear it. It'll look nice, I think." 

The merchant hesitated, then took the collar and clipped it into place. Bakura nodded, satisfied. 

"That's payment for fixing the setting so nicely. And the compliments, regardless of the truth in 'em. And thanks for stopping by just to drop it off." He made a dismissive motion; returned to his chair. 

The woman hesitated; bowed, then left with a respectful word. Bakura propped his feet up, waiting until her footsteps disappeared to speak. 

"See that, Zorc? I can tell. 'Kill her,' you tell me— _ha_! 'She's plotting against you,' you say. As if I'd mistake that for my own thought! Ridiculous!" 

"Are you sure?" Zorc asked. "You have pretty good instincts. If you're sensing something from her..." 

"Shut up." Bakura closed his eyes. "Stop trying to confuse me, cur. It won't work." 

"I can see your thoughts, child, every single one of them. And you aren't so sure, not about her and not about whether or not I'm capable of confusing you." 

Bakura opened his eyes; glared up at the ceiling. "Great Bast, I said _shut up_."

... ... ... 

Bakura's search regarding Zorc continued to turn up nothing of note. Though confident in his literacy, he was a rather slow reader, and knew it, which made the whole thing that much worse.

"You won't find anything... Give it up... This struggle against fate..." 

Bakura was hunched over a scroll at his desk, the candle beside him flickering with the last of its waxen life. His eyes were deeply shadowed. 

"How do you even know what you're reading?" asked the other figure, seated at his table with feet propped up. The effigy laughed. "I'm in your head, Host. I could change those letters to say anything, and you wouldn't know the difference." 

"Shut up..." Bakura moaned, clasping his hands over his ears. "Great Ra, shut up..." 

"I'm in your head," Shadow Bakura crooned, his voice unhampered by Thief King Bakura's hands. "It's useless to say that, to me." 

Bakura groaned, closing his eyes. "Damn it..." He hadn't been sleeping regularly, to avoid meeting with Zorc in the Shadow Realm of his dreams, but that seemed a futile effort. It had been almost a week since his duel at the temple, and he'd hardly left his hideout. 

"Stop fighting it..." Shadow Bakura said, leaning farther back in the chair. "You can't stop the process now. You're _mine_ —a vessel. Accept it." 

Bakura stood; swayed, on weary legs, but stalked to his door and wrenched it open. A thief, sitting a short ways down the hall, jumped and looked up. 

"Fetch me a priest! From that Anibus temple!" Bakura shouted, and the thief scrambled to his feet; bowed, and darted off. Bakura tried to ignore Zorc's laughter in his ears. "And bring me some damned coffee!!" 

When the priest arrived—laudably quickly, albeit in nightclothes and with the crust of sleep still in his eyes—Bakura poured them both a strong cup of coffee. It was an expensive import, and the priest looked a bit unsure whether he was actually supposed to drink his. The Thief King motioned to the table, where his effigy still sat, and deliberately took the chair Shadow Bakura currently sat it. 

"Rude..." the shadow sneered, as it fazed through him and stepped slightly back. Bakura ignored it. 

"Tell me about the Three Lost to Time." 

The priest raised his eyebrows; took a sip of coffee and cleared his throat. "The Three Gods..." he murmured, then sighed. "The God Cards are said to be the mightiest of monsters, locked away as any others in rare cards. Legend states that not everyone can control them—indeed, they're said to choose their own masters. But no one knows what happened to them, after their initial sealing and the creation of their cards, and most of the information we have about them is unconfirmed." 

Bakura thought about this for a moment; tried, with an effort, to separate his own thoughts from Zorc's. Shadow Bakura laughed—tremendously loudly and distractingly. 

"You can't tell, can you?" it shouted, close to his ear. It was all Bakura could do not to swing around and snap, given his audience. "Is it me? Is it you? Is it _us_ , or _we_? I am you, and you are me! We think the same, we act the same, and we—" 

"How were the monsters sealed, originally?" Bakura asked, grinding the question out past Shadow Bakura's chattering. 

The priest shrugged. "That's lost knowledge, Thief King. With our current knowledge, we couldn't reproduce such an act." 

Bakura scowled. "Then how do you _un_ seal one?" 

There was a sudden beat of total silence, and Bakura felt a wave of relief. For a moment, he was alone; for a moment, Zorc didn't speak, nor did Shadow Bakura, nor did the priest, and Bakura nearly started to weep with how beautiful the quiet was. 

Then, they all began speaking at once. 

"We don't know that, either," the priest said. "I would certainly advise against trying to find out, also. That might lead to quite a disaster." 

"Release a monster?" Shadow Bakura shrieked with laughter. "Are you that eager to _die_?!" 

"Don't tell me you're thinking of that wretched _snake_ ," Zorc said, voice rasping with mock pity. "It wouldn't _survive_ being unsealed." 

"So it is possible," Bakura said—in answer to all three. Again, this earned him a moment of divine silence, and the priest fidgeted. 

"In theory..." the priest said at last. "There are scholars... who hypothesize that each monster would have its own ritual for release. Sacrifice—symbolic and-or literal—would most likely be part of any one." 

"What about Zorc? Are there any theories about how to release the Dark Master?" 

There was a very awkward, drawn-out moment, and the priest asked softly, "Do you _want_ to revive the Dark Master Zorc, Thief King?" 

Bakura did—he longed for it, desperately. And, in that longing, he knew that Zorc was deeply lodged in his soul. Shadow Bakura cackled quietly in the corner. 

"That's none if your business," the Thief King growled. "Know your place. Just answer my questions." 

The priest swallowed visibly. "I... I've never heard of any, pertaining to Zorc, specifically..." 

"Pity..." Shadow Bakura said, with a slight shrug. "Well, he's told us everything he knows. Best to kill him, I think. Don't you, Thief King?" 

Bakura did. _If he's lying to me... about what he knows... then he deserves to die. And if he's telling the truth, then he's of no further use... and he might tell others about this..._

The Thief King gave a put-upon sigh, then said, "Fine. Thanks for coming over, so late. If you learn anything else, let me know." 

The priest, clearly relieved, stood. "Of course, Thief King. If you need anything else of me, please call. Never pay any mind to the hour." 

Bakura rose, too; stretched, then took a sip of his coffee. "Eyy, Zorc," he called out, and the priest stiffened. Shadow Bakura began to chuckle. "If I kill him, will you let me get some decent sleep tonight?" 

"I thought we just agreed that it was a good idea to kill him," Shadow Bakura said. 

"Yeah, I know, and I do agree," Bakura said, picking up an ornate dagger—a trophy, from a heist, not one he usually carried. The priest stumbled backwards slightly. "But I like him, a bit. And he has been rather accommodating." 

"I've never stopped you from sleeping, child," Zorc growled. 

"Yeah, but it'd be a bit more restful if you didn't show up in my damn dreams." 

As Shadow Bakura fell to a delighted cackling, something that could be called maniacal, Zorc gave an indulgent-sounding sigh. "Alright, Thief King. I'll keep to myself, tonight, if you kill him." 

"Great." Fixing the priest with his gaze, Bakura drew the dagger. "I hope your dog-headed master takes good care of you, in the afterlife." 

With half-coherent pleas, confused and desperate, the priest fell to his knees. But Bakura didn't falter; thrust the dagger deep into the base of the man's throat. The priest fell, twitching, and moments later lay still. 

"Another rug, wrecked..." Bakura murmured, then rounded on his still-chortling effigy; sneered, "Quit that, already!" and gave an exaggerated yawn. "I'm going to sleep." 

"You've earned it," Shadow Bakura crooned, as the Thief King lay down in his plush bed; he faintly heard the sounds of one of his underlings removing the body from his floor. Then he sank, blissfully, into undisturbed sleep, putting all his thoughts of Zorc aside for just one night of much-needed rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope you enjoyed the latest installment! Comments and kudos are my reason for living, so leave some if you're feelin' it~ 
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> For those interested in card trivia, the man Bakura sort-of duels in this chapter is running a Metal Raiders deck. Bakura's Seven Tools of the Bandit was also released in Metal Raiders, among other sets. ^w^
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>  ~~*casually hand-waves the fact that coffee probably wasn't a thing in Ancient Egypt _yet again_ *~~  
> 


	5. Death of a King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna split the ending up into two chapters, despite my original intentions. 
> 
> (Yes, that means this is the second-to-last chapter, folks~) 
> 
> I'm surprised by how easy it was to keep all the OCs in this fic unnamed; part of it is definitely the fact that Bakura never bothered to learn their names, haha. Of all of them, I was the most tempted to give the pretty young jewelry merchant a name, but... ah well, it is what it is.

Sleep, Bakura decided, was like food— _wonderful_ , and not something to be taken for granted once you had done without it. 

"Good morning, Host." 

Shadow Bakura was still sitting in the corner, but even his presence wasn't enough to dampen the Thief King's good mood. 

"Today's the day, Zorc," he said. 

"Ehh?" came the demonic rumbling in his ears, and Shadow Bakura's head tilted in question. 

"Today's the day we resurrect you, Dark Master." 

"Ohh?" Zorc purred, and Shadow Bakura grinned wickedly. 

"Now the host's getting with it," he said, and chuckled. "See, now? Isn't this better than fighting?" 

Bakura stretched luxuriously; leafed through his wardrobe until he found a nice red robe—red like the bloodstain on the rug from the night before. 

"How close are we, Zorc?" 

"Eh?" 

"You've been keeping count, haven't you?" Bakura asked, combing his fingers lightly through his hair. "How many more people do I have to kill?" 

Zorc chuckled; Shadow Bakura huffed, his grin widening and warping. "Figured that out, child? Smarter than I thought." 

"How many, Dark Master?" 

"Nine more." 

"Yeesh..." Bakura rubbed the back of his neck; yawned again. "How many people have I killed, for you?" 

"Ninety," Shadow Bakura said, sounding pleased. 

"Ninety... jeez..." the Thief King said, then chuckled. "Alright! Let's get to it, then!" 

Shadow Bakura stuck close to Thief King Bakura's shoulder as they stalked through the corridors of the hideout; Bakura could feel Zorc, too, hovering around him like a miasmic haze. He decided personal space was like food and sleep—never to be taken for granted again. 

"Once I'm free, child, I won't cling so," Zorc said. 

"But we're quite one and the same, Host," Shadow Bakura said. "I won't be going anywhere." 

_At least I'll never be lonely,_ the Thief King thought grimly, and both his spectral companions chuckled. 

"Let me get some breakfast, first," Bakura said, aloud, and the effigy at his shoulder scoffed. 

"Food is unimportant." 

"Maybe for spirits, but not for mortals," Bakura replied evenly. 

"You _won't_ be mortal, once this is through," Zorc said enticingly. "You'll be a god, just like me. You'll be a _part_ of me." 

The Thief King squashed down his revulsion, pulling his hood up as he exited the hideout. "Sounds like fun." 

Thief King Bakura drew his deck out, as he walked; leafed through it. He read every card carefully—lingering on none in particular. Shadow Bakura peered over his shoulder. 

_Hey, Shadow Me,_ Bakura thought, not bothering to speak aloud. 

"Yes?" the effigy replied. 

_I've got a request._

"Oh?" 

_We're one and the same, right? So at some point we won't be separate, like this, but actually fuzzed, right?_

Shadow Bakura nodded; grinned. "That's right, Host. One cohesive spirit for one flesh." 

_Before that happens, let's have a duel._

The effigy laughed. "What an interesting request!" 

"We've already completed our deal, child," Zorc growled. "It's a little late to make requests." 

Thief King Bakura ignored the monster; kept his focus entirely on Shadow Bakura. "You were created from a piece of my soul, at least in part." He said it aloud, for emphasis. "I know you must want to duel me, just once." 

Shadow Bakura laughed, seeming delighted. "Sounds interesting! I'll accept your challenge, Host! Would you prefer I duplicate our current deck, or battle you with a different one?" 

_Whatever you feel like,_ Bakura replied, shrugging. _I'll fight with this deck, though, so it might make for a strange duel if we had identical decks._

"Very well!" Shadow Bakura said. "I'll make one of my own, then!" 

Bakura could hear Zorc muttering in displeasure, and tried to quash his satisfaction—or at least attribute it to the upcoming duel. Neither of his companions seemed to pick up on it, Zorc too irritated and Shadow Bakura momentarily consumed by planning his deck. 

_So the two of you_ can _be distracted... good..._

"Oh! Thief King!" 

Bakura glanced up—distracted, in his own turn—to see the jewelry merchant leaning out of her shop. He raised a hand in acknowledgment, and she waved him over. 

"I have a wonderful scarab piece I wanted to show you!" she said, once he was inside the shelter of the shop. 

Bakura pulled his hood down. "Oh?" 

"It's _silver_ ," the woman said, motioning again. Bakura followed her, Shadow Bakura at his side. 

"I don't trust the wench. Neither do you, really," the effigy muttered, and Bakura felt irritation prick at him. 

_Stop it. I'm doing what you want, so stop trying to confuse me._

"You're still wearing the collar," Thief King Bakura said, to block out whatever reply Shadow Bakura came up with. The woman jumped slightly; touched the necklace in question. "I'm glad." 

"I-It's very beautiful, Highness," she replied. "I like it very much." 

"I'm glad," he repeated, and followed her into her small back room. 

"I heard about the priest." 

Bakura blinked. "Oh. The Anibus fellow?" 

The woman nodded. 

"He was no good," Bakura growled, unsure of why he suddenly felt defensive. "Weak. Traitorous. I gave him every opportunity." 

"You've made quite a name for yourself, recently, as a killer as well as a King of Thieves." 

"A... weeding out," Bakura said, and felt a hot flare of anger as Shadow Bakura laughed. "It's necessary. Not my favorite thing, sure, but it'll be worth it. And those who stay loyal to me don't need to worry. I'm not so fickle that I'd turn on anyone for no good reason." 

"Worth it indeed, child," Zorc growled, and Bakura tried not to snap at him. 

The woman nodded slowly, seeming satisfied, and then fetched a scarab cuff from a hidden drawer of her desk. Bakura's breath caught, and he held out his palms when she offered it to him. It was, indeed, stunningly polished silver—a rare import. In it's center, a lapis lazuli scarab glittered. 

"This is... beautiful..." he murmured, turning it over in his hands. 

"Say, why don't we kill the girl?" Shadow Bakura asked. "Number ninety-one!" 

_Shut up,_ Bakura thought, focusing on the cuff and trying—somewhat in vein—to block out Zorc's sudden and inexplicable snarling. He held the cuff up to get a better look at the scarab. 

Pain tore into his side, and he drew a sharp breath. His vision went momentarily white, and his hearing was obscured by Zorc's roar and the rushing of his own blood. When he managed to twist, to look over, he saw the woman. The scarab cuff hit the dusty ground. 

"Forgive me..." the jewelry merchant whispered, driving her dagger deeper and upward, making the King of Thieves hack as the breath was driven from his lungs. Shadow Bakura shrieked a curse, and the Thief King felt his legs start to tremble. "I will do no business with the King of Thieves. This shop is the sum of my father's life's work, and I will not _sully_ that inheritance by dealing with a _monster_." 

_Monster._

_Monster._

_MONSTER._

Bakura's vision went red, and he felt a force that clearly _wasn't_ his own will invade his limbs. He reached out, and saw the woman's face twist with surprise and fear. He felt his hands close around her throat, just beneath the tiger's eye collar. The dagger was drawn out; she raised it to strike him again. She missed—the tip of the blade glanced off his collar bone, the force of the impact jarring it from her grasp as the King of Thieves tightened his grip on her neck. 

_Stop it!_ Bakura couldn't speak aloud; screamed it, in his own mind. His body did not obey. _Stop it! She's not—!_

"She tried to _kill_ us!" Shadow Bakura sneered, the words emerging from the Thief King's mouth. "Don't tell me to 'stop!'" 

The woman's eyes swam as she struggled to breathe, and Bakura felt his nails break her skin. Any harder and— 

_Stop it! Stop!!_

There was a crack, and the woman went limp. Shadow Bakura continued, for a moment, to squeeze, mangling her slim neck, and then let the body drop. Moments later Bakura, too, fell to his knees, released from the possession and gasping against the pain in his side. 

"'Stop it?'" Shadow Bakura sneered, once again separate and beside him. "Pathetic! And you call yourself the King of Thieves?" 

Bakura couldn't get the breath into his lungs to reply; coughed weakly, his blood spattering the hem of the woman's maize-colored dress. He crumpled onto his elbows, gasping in shallow, desperate breaths. 

"You great fool!" Zorc roared. "If the Host dies, that doesn't help our cause at all! Do something!" 

"What do you expect _me_ to do?" Shadow Bakura spat. " _He's_ the one who got himself stabbed by some _whore_!" 

Bakura flopped onto his shoulder, vision filling rapidly with swarming black dots. _If... I die here..._

"Get the Destiny Board from his deck! Activate it!" Zorc roared. "Quickly!" 

_If I die here..._ Bakura's vision focused blearily on the silver cuff, lying several inches from his face. _If I die... here..._

But he couldn't seem to complete the thought. All that really came to mind was the fact that he hadn't even had breakfast, that morning, and it seemed atrociously cruel to kill someone before they had had breakfast.

... ... ... 

When Bakura woke, he was in the Shadow Realm.

"You're far more trouble than you're worth, Host." 

Blinking, Bakura saw his shadow effigy sitting a short ways from him, on the purple-tinged sand. Zorc, too, was visible some distance away. 

"Aah... Bast... I'm alive?" 

"Barely," Shadow Bakura said. "After you passed out, I was able to take control again and use Destiny Board to get you here. Then we waited for you to actually die, and Zorc used the Monster Reborn spell to bring you back." 

_Waited for me... to actually die..._ Bakura felt his stomach flip. He sat up slowly, feeling his head pound and his bones shriek their protest, and looked down at the spot he'd been stabbed. The wound was still there, lurid and half-open, but was no longer bleeding. 

"That'll leave a mark," Shadow Bakura commented. 

"You let your guard down," Zorc rumbled, from where he crouched. "Not like you, cur." 

"You two were yammering in _both_ my ears!" Bakura snapped. "I was distracted!" 

"You should be used to that, by now," Zorc retorted. 

"Be quiet..." Bakura lay back down; closed his eyes. "The plan's still on, so be quiet and let me rest, for a minute." 

"We're down to eight!" Shadow Bakura said, with a chuckle. 

"Yeah, we are..." the Thief King muttered. "But don't forget about our duel, too." 

"If course not! I'm looking forward to it!" 

"So am I..."

... ... ... 

While Bakura slept, there in the Shadow Realm, he felt scales covering him like a blanket. They were warm; soft.

 _Dia... fight beside me, my friend... just one last time..._

"One last time, indeed!" 

Bakura jolted awake at Zorc's voice; found himself back in his hideout, in his own bed. _Such is the power of the Shadow Realm, I suppose..._

"Once we're properly merged, that snake won't want anything to do with us," Shadow Bakura said, picking up the thread of conversation. "It doesn't care for me much, you see." 

"Then I'll relish this final duel even more," Bakura said, with a trace of annoyance. "I've fought with Diabound for a long time. But if this is the last time, then I'll make the most if it." 

"Good attitude to have," Shadow Bakura said, reclining on the chair. 

"I'm going to find some damn breakfast..." Bakura said, standing and flinching at the white-hot pain from his injury. He glanced down; found it still exposed, and took a moment to bandage it properly. 

"One more scar for the Thief King's collection," Shadow Bakura commented. "You collect them almost as zealously as gems, it seems." 

"It's your body, too," Bakura pointed out. "Be a bit more sympathetic." 

"I don't care about aesthetics," Shadow Bakura replied. "As long as our body is strong and fit, things like that don't matter." 

"But if I, say, got my hand cut off, you'd be a bit displeased," Bakura said, and was rewarded by seeing Shadow Bakura's face scrunch. 

"A bit, yes." 

"Don't get any wild ideas into your head, little King," Zorc growled. "Self-mutilation won't solve anything." 

"I'd never dream of it," Bakura said. "A trapped lizard may drop it's tail, or a wild dog chew off it's own foot to survive, but humans aren't that feral. We've lost that, in our civility." 

"The King of Thieves is as feral a creature as humanity could have," Shadow Bakura said, with a smirk. "If anyone has that raw, animal potential, it's you." 

"Us, you mean, my Other Self?" 

Shadow Bakura laughed. "That's right. It's _us_." 

The Thief King ordered some cold meats, vegetables, and wine be brought up to him; better not to venture outside, at least for a few hours—at least until he knew how easily his wound would reopen. To his annoyance, eating made his injured insides hurt worse, and he drank more wine to deaden his nerves. 

"Isn't there anything stronger than this?" he demanded of one of his underlings, hurling the empty bottle to shatter on the doorframe. The young thief flinched from the impact, then scurried off with a hurried word of obedience. Bakura slumped down over his desk, trying to keep his breathing shallow. 

"A little intoxicated, are we, mortal?" Zorc mocked. "Despair got the better of you? Or are you really that susceptible to a little physical pain?" 

"Be quiet..." Bakura muttered; peered, through his folded arms, at his Shadow self. Shadow Bakura was staring, in apparent fascination, at his own hand. "You've seen me get drunk before, far drunker than this." 

Zorc chuckled. "True, I suppose. Enjoy yourself, then." 

"Enjoy myself? With a damned hole in my side? Yeah, real enjoyable... I'm lucky the wine doesn't just pour out the damned wound." _You can be distracted... and you can be intoxicated... good..._ Though his own vision was swimming a bit, Bakura the Thief King was good at holding his liquor—his Shadow self seemed to be less practiced at it. 

The younger thief reappeared with a bottle of wine—Bakura thanked him, even as Zorc appealed, "Number ninety-two?" The Thief King let his young underling leave alive, breaking open the neck of the wine bottle. 

"You want to inherit a certain amount of my power along with this handsome face of mine, right?" he asked his Shadow self, who gave a swaying nod of his head. "Of course you do. So my loyal juniors aren't the most ideal sacrifices, then." He gulped some wine, appreciating the way the alcohol burned—the youngster had found something _considerably_ stronger. 

Shadow Bakura gave a soft, "Oof...!" of a noise, and Thief King Bakura felt the alcohol hit his own bloodstream a second later. 

"Pity we can't drink properly, together, in celebration," he commented idly, raising the bottle to his effigy. "Here's to the Dark Master!" 

"To the Dark Master!" Shadow Bakura cheered, and the Thief King drank again—deeply. 

_I've figured it out._

_I've figured it out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do leave a comment—thoughts, critiques, favorite parts, etc.~ They really are the best kind of encouragement, and I can't say how eagerly I await them. Thank you so much for your continued readership, and I'll see you in the final chapter~


	6. Bakura, King of Thieves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One final duel, kids~
> 
> Just like in the show, a lot of the rules of "Shadow Games" are kind of circumstantial in this AU. They also depend on emotional strength and mental state of the participant. 
> 
> I do so hope you've enjoyed this little side-story in the TwRE-verse! After a few more installments of "The Pharaoh's Lotus Garden (Part I)," the AU will carry on with a story tentatively titled "What Followed the High Priest Home." I do hope to see you all there, and, as always, thank you so much for your readership! ;w;

The Shadow Realm vibrated with energy around him, and Thief King Bakura shivered. 

_Thief King... Thief King... I am... the Thief King._ He kept repeating it to himself. 

"It was worth it, wasn't it, child?" Zorc chuckled, from where he crouched several meters away. "For the power to call yourself the Thief King?" 

"That's right..." Bakura murmured. "I am the Thief King. The unnamed Thief King... Thief King Bakura... King of the Thieves..." 

Shadow Bakura was busily shuffling his deck on the other side of a flat expanse of sand; he seemed genuinely excited, and Bakura wondered how much of his Shadow Self was, indeed, his own soul. 

"Let's stay out of each other's thoughts, to have a fair duel of it," the Thief King called, and the Shadow nodded. 

"Of course! I don't need resort to things like that to beat you." 

Bakura looked down at two cards—held them out. "Why don't you use the Dark Master? I've never fought against him, and I'd like to, at least once." 

"I'd be honored, of course!" Shadow Bakura replied, with a grin. They met halfway across the impromptu battlefield, and Zorc's card changed hands. The Dark Master faded out if existence, where he had been crouched, presumably vanishing into his card. 

_I don't know if this will do what I hope it will... but..._ Bakura swallowed; licked his lips, and tasted strong wine there. Hunger and thirst didn't exist in the Shadow Realm—it was unnatural, he thought, and swallowed again. 

_Diabound... fight beside me, old friend, just this one last time..._

"The loser will have to forfeit, of course," Shadow Bakura said. "Are you okay with that, Host? Losing all your life points in a duel means dying, here. We wouldn't want either of us to actually die, now would we?"

"Of course not..." Bakura murmured; moved to one side of the field, as his effigy walked to the other. "Loser surrenders willingly, of course."

"You go first, Host!" Shadow Bakura called invitingly. "Let's have a good time of it!" 

"Let's have a good duel..." the Thief King agreed, and drew his hand. _Well, then... maybe just one god in this whole hopeless world_ does _like me, just a little bit..._ "I summon Souls of the Forgotten, to defend, and end my turn." 

"I know your strategies, Thief King! I know _our_ strategies!" Shadow Bakura jeered. "I hope you've thought up some new moves, or this will be an awfully boring duel!" He drew a card; announced, "I summon Souls of the Forgotten, to attack! I end my turn." 

_To attack...?_ For a moment, Bakura forgot completely about the larger situation as he tried to figure out why his Shadow Self had made such a move. He drew a card; narrowed his eyes slightly, and said, "Have it your way, Shadow Me. I summon Abaki, to attack! Go, my servant—attack his Souls of the Forgotten!" 

The demented little field loped across the field; smashed Souls of the Forgotten with its club. Shadow Bakura winced, but kept smiling. 

"Your move!" Bakura called out, as Abaki scampered back to his side of the field. 

Shadow Bakura nodded; drew a card, and smiled. "My card is Portrait's Secret, and I summon it to attack! Then I end my turn." 

_To attack, again...?_ Bakura blinked. Sending cards intentionally to the graveyard was a strategy he employed, so that didn't seem odd. _But it's just stupid to put them in position to attack... you lose way too many life points, that way...!_

"What's the matter?" Shadow Bakura called. "Weren't you looking forward to this duel? I'm having fun already!" 

Unsettled, Thief King Bakura drew a card. _This is..._ "I play the equip spell Bashing Shield! It ups Abaki's attack to 2700! Then, I summon Dark Artist, to attack! Go, Abaki—attack his Portrait's Secret! Dark Artist, attack him directly!"

Shadow Bakura seemed genuinely alarmed, for an instant, as his monster was obliterated. Dark Artist struck him directly, then, and his Life dropped from 3200 to 1700 to 1100. 

"You know I like to equip Bashing Shield to Abaki," Bakura said, with a trace of annoyance in his voice. "You had to have seen that coming." 

Shadow Bakura chuckled; didn't reply, and drew a card. "I summon Earthbound Spirit, to defend. I end my turn." 

Bakura grit his teeth. _What in Ammut's belly is going on...? What is he_ doing _? Was I wrong? Does he know exactly what I'm planning to do, during this duel? Is this his idea of thwarting my plans?_

"Let's make this a little more interesting, Host," Shadow Bakura called out. "Let's make a bet, between just you and I, now that Master Zorc isn't listening." 

_Zorc... isn't listening...?_ Thief King Bakura leaned forward slightly. "A wager? You really are a part of me, then." 

Shadow Bakura laughed. "We're the same, Host." 

"What do you want to bet, Other Me?" 

"If you win, I'll let you survive, inside of me. Powerless, trapped, but still able to think independently. You want that, don't you?" 

The Thief King's mouth went dry. "I don't know. That sorta sounds like hell." 

"And if I win, you won't damage our body, like you're planning to." 

"You know about that?" 

"We share a mind and a body, Other Me. I know _everything_." 

_Except you don't, really..._ Thief King Bakura thought. _If you did, you'd know that was only my backup plan, and something I made sure to dwell on, to distract you from my real plan. No, I managed to keep my actual plan from you, somehow. And even now, you don't realize what I'm about to do._

"Alright," the Thief King said, with a shaky grin. "It's a bet." Reassured, he drew a card. "I set one card, then tribute Dark Artist to summon Diabound Kernel to my field! Abaki, attack his servant! Diabound, attack him directly!" 

Diabound, much to Bakura's visceral relief, materialized unmarred by corrosive disease, as grand and imposing as it had ever been. The white serpent opened it's jaws wide; bore it's fangs and hissed at Shadow Bakura, then lunged as Abaki smashed through Earthbound Spirit. The defending monster shattered, but Shadow Bakura didn't flinch. As Diabound flew at him, he held up the cards in his hands as if to hide his eyes. 

Thief King Bakura watched in astonishment as Diabound's attack faltered; as a monster of some sort materialized on Shadow Bakura's side of the field. Diabound withdrew. 

"Battle Fader summons itself from my hand when I control no monsters and you declare a direct attack," Shadow Bakura announced. "It ends your battle phase! Now..." he drew a card with a flourish; grinned, "prepare yourself, Other Me! First, I play the spell card The Dark Door—only one monster may attack, during each battle phase! Then, I banish Portrait's Secret, Earthbound Spirit, and Souls of the Forgotten, to summon Dark Necrofear to the field! Come, my servant!" 

Thief King Bakura took a step back as the ghoulish monster took form, the doll in its arms chattering. He felt himself begin to smile, and thought it might be a monster he'd love to steal, under different circumstances. _Good... Good, Shadow Me... give me a fight worth this plan of mine... Let's have a fun duel, you and I..._

"I set two cards, and end my turn!" Shadow Bakura announced, and then folded his arms. 

_It seems odd that he didn't attack with Dark Necrofear, but he's shown that everything he does is to an end..._ Thief King Bakura drew a card and examined his hand. _I have Souls of the Forgotten defending, Diabound,_ and _Abaki with Bashing Shield... multiple monsters don't do me much good, though, thanks to his Dark Door..._

"Very well, Shadow Me!" he called. "I don't know what you're planning, but I'll take your bait! I select Abaki to attack, this turn! Go, Abaki—destroy his Dark Necrofear!" 

"I activate my trap card, Dark Spirit of the Silent!" Shadow Bakura countered, and Abaki skittered to a halt halfway across the field, seeming confused. "Abaki's attack is negated, and I select Souls of the Forgotten to attack, instead!" 

Bakura watched in astonishment as Souls of the Forgotten changed itself into attack position; surged forward, and was destroyed effortlessly by Dark Necrofear. He shivered, physically chilled, as his life points dropped to 2700. 

"Ready to surrender?" Shadow Bakura called over. 

"When I'm having such fun?" the Thief King replied, with an honest laugh. "This duel's just begun!"

"Just be sure you don't accidentally take a fatal blow!" the effigy replied, chuckling. "I'd hate to have to call off my own attack, at the last minute. I'd be quite an anticlimactic end." 

"More anticlimactic than a forfeit?" Bakura asked. "We're already playing a bit of a bloodless game."

Shadow Bakura laughed again. "Wouldn't do to tear each other apart like a couple of feral things, now would it?" 

"Wouldn't do at all." 

Shadow Bakura drew a card; called over, "Are you ready, Other Me? I'll show you that surrender if your only option!" 

"I'm ready, Other Me." _... I don't want this duel to end..._ Bakura shivered; ran his fingers along the cards in his hand and admired the graceful sway of Diabound Kernel, awaiting his instruction on the field. _I don't want it to end._ "Do your worst." 

"Very well!" Shadow Bakura called. "First, I activate my set trap, Just Desserts! Since you control two monsters, it deals you 1000 points of direct damage!" 

Thief King Bakura shivered as his life points fled him, leaving him with just 1700, and he felt for a moment he might collapse. But he was smiling, swaying slightly; his eyes remained fixed on Dark Necrofear, with it's 2200 attack points.

_Come—attack me!_

But Shadow Bakura didn't declare an attack. Instead, he said, "I'll show you the true terror of fighting against fate!" and held up a card. "Contract with the Dark Master! I tribute Dark Necrofear and Battle Fader to summon the Dark Master to my field! Come, Dark Master - Zorc! Grant our host one more wish, in fighting against you just this once!" 

Bakura's breath caught as a torrential wind picked up, on the duel field, and the Dark Master began to take shape. Diabound hissed, though the sound of it was snatched away by the tumultuous summon. In the monstrous figure that took shape, within the violet-hued vortex sand, the King of Thieves saw a future he wanted nothing to do with; a master he wished to disavow, passionately, with his final breath. 

_I don't want this duel to end, though..._

Bakura's hand shook, and he closed his eyes. _Diabound... my friend..._ The massive serpent on the field turned; sensed something, and opened its jaws with a questioning tilt of its head. "Diabound... my pride..." 

"The Dark Master attacks Diabound Kernel!" Shadow Bakura shrieked, his voice so much like the Thief King's own. Bakura raised his hand—still shaking—and opened his eyes; looked not at his opponent, the effigy, and not at the raging Dark Master. He kept his eyes fixed on Diabound Kernel. 

_The rest is up to you, my friend._

"My set card is Astral Barrier! The Dark Master's attack becomes a direct attack; I sacrifice what's left of my Life for Diabound Kernel!" 

Zorc's roaring changed pitch—from victorious to alarmed. But it was too late to stop the move that Shadow Bakura had declared, and Thief King Bakura felt the attack slam into his body. He tried, for a moment, to bite back the exclamation of pain; failed, and screamed with the sensation of his Life burning away, rising like smoke from his own mortal body. Shadow Bakura, too, began to wheeze; clutched at his chest as the Thief King's body convulsed. Bakura's knees struck the ground. 

_"Each monster would have its own ritual for release. Sacrifice—symbolic and-or literal—would most likely be part of any one."_ That was what the priest had said. And, in the Shadow Realm, all spells and traps manifested literally—one's life points were one's own Life, in the Shadow Realm, and loosing meant— 

Thief King Bakura hit the ground; hadn't the strength to even turn his face away from the dust, and lost consciousness. 

... ... ...

Scales wrapped around the Thief King, in his slumber. He expected to meet Osiris, in the darkness, but instead met his Shadow Self. 

"Thief King, ay?" the effigy chortled, spreading his arms. He sat cross-legged on the ground, so Bakura was looking down at him. "Thief King enough to steal your soul back from the Dark Master, is that what you think?" 

"No," the Thief King answered honestly. "At least Thief King enough to at least steal away his victory, though." 

"Come—come here." Shadow Bakura motioned, and the Thief King stretched out one hand. He couldn't see the limb—it didn't exist, or so it seemed, in the darkness. But Shadow Bakura still took hold of it, and Thief King Bakura felt the effigy's hands fold around his own invisible one. "It was a good duel. We should do it again, some time." 

Bakura sunk down into a crouch. His Shadow Self was smiling in an entirely strange way—eerily resigned, but happily so. "We can't. I'm going to die." 

"You already are dead. But you should know by now that that's a fixable thing, if you cast the right spell." 

... ... ... 

Bakura woke to dirt clogging his nose and mouth, and began immediately to cough. He spluttered, pushing himself frantically upright and hacking up a mouthful of bloody sand. As his senses returned to him, slowly, he became aware of a sloppy, wet chopping sound a short distance from him. At first, he kept his head lowered; tried to catch his breath before he looked up, and saw the mutilated form of the Dark Master lying several yards away. Zorc's blood—maroon and sticky; too thick—gathered in the sand, turning it to sludge-like mud, as Diabound hacked determinedly away at the body with its fangs. Though no good for gnawing, they were excellent for slashing and gouging and otherwise separating body parts from one another. The rest of the surrounding area was empty, without any trace of Shadow Bakura.

The white serpent turned; slithered toward the Thief King, leaving behind the mangled body of the Dark Master, and Bakura pushed himself up to meet it. Diabound butted its brow against his chest, knocking the already-scarce breath from him, and nuzzled into his stomach with a blood-slicked muzzle. Bakura laughed faintly, letting his arms drape over the ridge of its neck. 

"Did it... work...?" he asked—perhaps of himself; perhaps of Diabound. The monster offered no understandable reply, but hummed—a pleasant sound. Its tail whisked across the dirt. Bakura scratched absently at the hind ridge of the snake's skull, and the humming intensified. He did a mental sweep for Zorc, seeking out any trace of the Dark Master within his own mind; found nothing. "Did that... actually work...?" 

Beside him sat a spell card: Monster Reborn. 

"Did you do that, Dia...?" he asked the snake faintly, when he noticed it. Diabound pushed its muzzle more insistently into the soft flesh below his rib cage. "Oof... okay, okay... yeah, I get it... you're happy, hmm?" 

Once again, the monster's response was inarticulate, but unmistakably pleased. Bakura let his hands drop, and picked up the card. 

"Well... alive again, it seems..." he murmured, and Diabound drew back slightly; watched him with keen, intelligent eyes. "Did it work, though? Are you free from your card? And is Zorc sealed in his?" Bakura swore he saw the snake nod, a slight bobbing of its elongated head. "Well... one way to find out, I suppose. Trap, Destiny Board: deactivate." 

A familiar, sweeping white enveloped Thief King Bakura, and he found himself suddenly in his own room at his hideout. He gave a stifled shout of surprise as the huge serpent materialized with him—far too large for the space, its tail immediately sweeping a shelf-full of treasures to the ground with a clatter. Bakura himself was knocked rather violently back by its head, but was laughing as he landed heavily on his back. 

"It worked... gods alive, it worked!" 

Diabound, above him, resumed its insistent nuzzling of him, and he wrapped his arms around its head; almost began to cry, with the sheer relief of it. He was vaguely aware of his other cards scattered about the floor, but didn't bother to gather them until Diabound had calmed a bit; withdrawn enough for him to sit up.

When he found Zorc's card, the King of Thieves paused; looked down at it. 

_Dark Master - Zorc..._

He remembered, vividly, looking down at that card as a small child, half-feral and desperately hungry. He remembered that it had driven him mad—that _Zorc_ had driven him temporarily mad, in the hopes of making a malleable servant of him. It had nearly worked. 

"It nearly worked, didn't it, Diabound...?" Bakura breathed, and the snake nudged his arm; bumped his elbow more insistently until Zorc's card was jarred from his grasp. He chuckled. "Yeah, you're right. Doesn't matter now, does it? _He_ doesn't matter."

"Thief King?" 

Bakura glanced up to see one of his juniors standing in the doorway. He scrambled for some sort of explanation as to his current company, and then realized that Diabound had vanished; that where Zorc's card had been knocked away, a moment before, Diabound Kernel's rested in his hand. He felt himself smile. 

"Yeah? What is it?" 

The thief shifted, obviously nervous. "We... heard a ruckus..." 

"Did you roll dice, to see who'd come up and investigate?" 

The man chuckled faintly. "I... well, we... drew cards, yes..." 

Bakura laughed—overjoyed that there was no nagging desire to kill the man, no whispered voice in the back of his mind that didn't belong to him. "Nothing to worry about. Though, since you went to the trouble, bring me up some supper. Something good. And wine, the best we have."

The thief, looking earnestly relieved, darted from the room. Bakura sat still for a moment, then raised one hand; pressed it to his own chest. 

_Other me... Shadow Me... you're back where you belong now, aren't you? Back where you came from, as a part of my soul..._

He received no response, but perceived the truth of it. Zorc no longer dwelt inside him, and again he found himself laughing again with relief. He laid back on the floor, on the expensive rug that wasn't stained with blood, and gazed up at the ceiling. Even with all the sacrifices in the world, Zorc couldn't resurrect without that piece of human soul, given in exchange for a wish. _To be King of Thieves..._

 _But what now...? Gods... what now..._

A sudden, yawning sense of purposelessness opened up, where the hole in his soul had just recently been filled—this one much deeper and more profound, for it's lack of immediate remedy. He glanced over when his underling returned, but didn't bother to sit up. 

"Leave it," he said, not gruffly but with finality. The thief obeyed; left the roast meat and wine on a table, bowed, and then vanished. It was the scent of the food, as much as anything, that eventually coaxed Bakura to rise. 

"What now...?" he asked aloud, and received no response. For an odd, confusing moment, he missed Zorc's voice in his head, if only for the impossibility of loneliness that it had lent. "Damn..."

He sat down heavily; looked around the hushed room, filled with such treasures as to rival the Pharaoh's wealth. They lent him no joy, in their sparkling. But he tucked into his meal, a resolution to keep living despite the odd sense of despair and loss. He ate, with relish, and wondered why he made such a deliberate secret of his name. _No longer Bakura... but simply the King. The King of Thieves._ Perhaps, he thought, forgetting his own name would rid him of nagging human things like a longing for purpose. The King of Thieves would not succumb to things that tormented the man Bakura. He drank, and thought about how his life would proceed. 

_The King of Thieves... my pride, Diabound, as my only companion..._

Pride flickered, then, in his chest—battered back the darkness, for a moment, with it's light. And he smiled; ate, and leaned back when he'd finished his meal; began to hum quietly to himself, a commoner's lullaby he'd almost forgotten. 

_I'll live... yes._ He thought it with certainty, as if it had been in question until that point. _I'll keep living, as the King of Thieves... nothing more, and nothing less. I'll live._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos give me a reason to live~ If you enjoyed, please consider leaving some! ;w; 
> 
> Hope to see you all again soon!


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